The Shapes of Kindness
by DoctorRapture
Summary: Hawke is having a hard time adjusting to life in Kirkwall, and the emotional strain on her family sometimes proves too much for the feisty mage. On one such evening, she sets out to find somewhere else to stay for the night and winds up at the mansion of a handsome, broody elf... F!Hawke/Fenris. Rated M for later chapters. My first fic. Please be gentle!
1. A Hell of a Day

**A/N: **_Okay well this is my first fanfic and I really hope you all like it. Uhm... well, I don't really know what all to say here, other than that I don't own Dragon Age or any of the characters therein. Anyway please R/R!_

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Noel Hawke was angry.

Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. She'd been angry when she'd had to walk back to Gamlen's hovel all the way from Sundermount in the rain. Her emotional status had been elevated to 'pissed' when she opened the door just in time to hear her mother and uncle squabbling again. And 'pissed' had turned to something between 'furious' and 'ravening' when Carver decided that right then was an excellent time to remind her of all her shortcomings and how much her presence inconvenienced the family and, by proxy, him.

And so, after attempting to endure the situation for all of a minute and a half, the diminutive mage stomped back out into the rain and swore up and down that she'd much rather sleep in a gutter than spend one more night in the creaky, itchy bunk bed crammed into a corner of her dear uncle's abode.

She glared around Lowtown with all the ferocity she could muster—which was a fair amount, all things considered—as she pushed her sodden bangs away from her eyes. One pale hand came to rest on her forehead for a long moment as she attempted to gather her thoughts. Surely there had to be someone who would let her spend the night at their place.

Her first thought was Aveline, and that thought was pushed out of her mind almost immediately. She couldn't just waltz up to the Viscount's keep at this time of night and expect Aveline to let her borrow a bed in the barracks. Well, actually she could do exactly that… but not without her friend giving her a very stern lecture about the importance of family and learning to accept the flaws of those she loved, and frankly Hawke just wasn't in the mood for that. The guard captain was easily her closest female friend, but _damn._

This train of thought led her to her other close friend, Varric. Surely he would let her borrow a corner of his room in the Hanged Man for the night! Of course, no sooner had this thought popped into her head than the door behind her opened.

"Good, you're still out here. Take that mangy dog with you!" Gamlen hollered, shunting a dejected-looking mabari out into the rain beside the mage. The door banged shut once more, and Hawke peered down at her faithful hound. He looked up at her and whined pathetically.

"What'd you do this time, Winston? Breathe too loudly again?" she sighed, scratching the large dog behind the ears. He let out a little huff.

So much for her plan of going to the Hanged Man. They'd never allow a wet dog in. And she wasn't about to leave him out in the rain while she slept with a roof over her head. Hawke finally regained enough of her composure to think more clearly, and she decided that she could at least scoot her way under an awning while she thought her next move over. Guiding Winston under a small overhanging portion of roof, she huddled under it near the dog.

Since sleeping in Varric's room was out of the question, so was the idea of asking Isabela for help. She was rooming in the Hanged Man too, after all. And besides, Hawke wouldn't have been comfortable with that idea anyway. Isabela probably would have assumed Hawke was trying to come onto her.

As she mulled over her rapidly-shrinking list of people who could help her, she attempted to wring a bit of the excess water from her dark hair. Naturally a rich auburn shade, it now looked more brown than anything else. Brown like good old Fereldan mud. Hawke peered upward at the ominous black clouds boiling across the sky and suddenly felt very insignificant. All the wind had gone out of her proverbial sails in terms of being angry. Now she was just feeling that awful sensation of 'I'm tired and my day has been horrible and I want to cry.' Still, she reined in that thought and mastered it, refusing to give into the childish urge.

She needed to focus. Who could she spend the night with? Merrill? No, she couldn't ask the sweet, tiny elf for help. She'd only just moved into her house in the Alienage and there was no way she'd be settled in already.

The idea of asking Anders for help came and went in the same breath. There was no way. It wasn't that she _disliked_ the former Grey Warden. She just… didn't really like him. It wasn't even something she could put her finger on. Something in his eyes, maybe—and nothing that even had to do with Justice. His stare just made her uncomfortable. But that only left one option.

Winston peered up at her and whined pathetically.

"I know," she grumbled, "but I don't think he'll help. He hates me anyway."

Still, she wouldn't know until she tried. She'd tap on his door, ask to spend the night in a corner somewhere out of the way, and when he refused her on account of her being a mage, well… she'd probably slink off to Darktown to ask Anders as a final resort.

The walk to Hightown was an excruciating one. The distance between her uncle's house and the mansion seemed to have tripled. She was utterly exhausted from a full day of travel, her hair and robe were completely soaked, and even her shoes had become so wet that every step she took squished unpleasantly as she walked. Only the steady warmth of the mabari at her side kept her chugging long enough to make it past the Chantry and to the door of the old mansion.

Hawke lifted a hand, hesitated, and then knocked lightly. She waited all of five seconds, then gave another little tap at the wood. Looking down at Winston, she shrugged. "Oh well, he must be asleep already. Come on, we can go camp out near the Cha-"

The door swung open, silencing the little mage in an instant. Fenris, lean and lanky, stared out at her. "Hawke?" he asked, arching a dark brow.


	2. A Thoughtful Host

**A/N:** _Okay well, I really struggle with where to split things into chapters. Obviously. So I'm sorry for that! I never know if something is going to feel too lengthy or too short or what. I still don't own Dragon Age or the characters. But here you go, chapter two! I hope you guys like it! Please R/R!_

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"Hey, Fenris. Sorry to bother you. I know it's late and all. I just was ah—in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd check on you." The woman laughed quickly, awkwardly. She'd been about to ask him, really. But somehow the idea of admitting her situation to this proud, reserved elf left her stomach in knots.

He peered at her for a long time with those large, moss-coloured eyes and, his face betraying nothing, opened the door wider. "Why don't you come inside?"

"Are you sure? I'd hate to be a bother. I mean, if you were asleep or anything I can always come back another time." She replied, though her feet were already carrying her into the mansion. Winston was right behind her, effectively cutting off her path of retreat.

Fenris shut the door and locked it, peering at her still. "I rarely sleep. It is no bother. Have… have you eaten?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm really not hungry. But thank you…" she mumbled awkwardly, glancing away at the smooth tile floor of the entryway. Despite being in out of the rain, she was still freezing.

"Alright. Give me a moment and I shall try to find you a towel." The lanky elf spun on a heel and hurried off.

Hawke watched him go, feeling a tiny frown tugging at her lips. His kindness surprised her, and she wasn't sure why. He hadn't made it a secret that he disliked mages. Hated them. But in that same breath, he'd never been unkind to her, during the short time she'd come to know him. No, he really did seem to be willing to give her a chance to prove that she was not like the Danarius who had enslaved him and ruined his life.

The little mage wetted her lips with her tongue, brow furrowing. It was awfully chilly in here. And she was thirsty, which she considered ironic considering she'd endured a veritable deluge of water over the course of the day. She didn't realize she'd sat down until she heard Winston whining as he butted his head against her arm.

"Must be more tired than I realized, huh?" she asked wearily, giving the mabari a little pat on the head. The dog huffed, seemingly unconvinced, and walked over to an empty corner where he proceeded to shake himself dry.

The minutes slid by and Hawke found herself stifling yawns. Well, maybe she could just rest her eyes for a moment and then when Fenris came back in she'd get back up. Yes, she just needed to rest her forehead on her knees and shut her eyes for a few seconds…

Hawke was startled back into reality as she felt the weight of a strong hand on her shoulder. The touch was surprisingly gentle, however, and somehow hesitant.

"Hawke? Hawke, you must wake up now." A deep, rich voice drifted deliciously along her senses. It was a voice that both thrilled and intimidated her, and it was not a voice she could disobey.

As Hawke cautiously squeezed an eye open, lifting her head to peer up Fenris, his hand swiftly left her shoulder and returned to his side. Suddenly she felt embarrassed. Mortified, even. What a fool she was making of herself! "Fenris? Oh—Maker, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. Here, let me just get going-"

"Hush. It's still pouring outside, and you are in no shape to go anywhere."

"I'm fine!" Hawke protested, wobbling her way to her feet. Truth be told, she didn't feel fine. She was still cold, and her joints ached in protest of the movement, and she was definitely thirsty. She was vividly aware of the hand that swiftly darted out and caught her arm, keeping her from sagging right back down to the tiled floor.

"You are not fine. Come, let's get you cleaned up. I am sure there is a spare dress somewhere around that you may wear." His tone was gentle, so she didn't think he was too angry, but it was firm. He obviously wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. And so the mage let him guide her through the mansion and to a washroom complete with a large, claw-foot bathtub.

Hawke glanced around. Even in her weariness she noted that he'd already left what seemed to be a spare towel on the counter near the bathtub. She felt an intense surge of gratefulness for the taciturn elf. "Fenris? Thank you." She said, her eyes meeting his own.

He shifted, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and released her arm as delicately and carefully as if he'd been worried she would detonate. "Think nothing of it. Have a bath and I shall find you some clean clothes." Not waiting for a response, he turned and silently disappeared back out into the hallway, shutting the door after himself.

Hawke gazed at the door a moment longer, mulling over his behavior. It was apparent that he still didn't really trust her, since she was a mage and all. But he was still willing to give her a chance that she wasn't like Danarius, and as such he was trying to do what any good friend would do for another.

As she peeled off her sodden robe and smallclothes, Hawke chanced a glance at the cracked mirror in the corner and noted her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She absently pressed the back of her hand to her face, trying to check her temperature, but she couldn't really tell if she had a fever or not. She certainly didn't feel great. She probably had a little cold from tromping around in the rain all damned day.

The mage let out a sigh of delight as she turned the water on in the tub and realized that it was hot. Hot water! Shit, the only way they had hot water at Gamlen's was if they boiled it over the stove or if she got inventive with her magic. Greedily, she climbed into the tub as it filled and stretched out her pale, slender legs. She could have stayed right there and not moved at all until the water went cold, but, with great effort, Hawke forced herself to pick up a washcloth she supposed Fenris had left for her, and a bar of soap.

As she scrubbed at herself and washed her hair, she was seized by the sudden thought that she was naked in the home of the most gorgeous man she'd ever laid eyes on. Suddenly grateful that her mother didn't know where she was, Hawke snickered to herself and rinsed out her hair.

There was a knock at the door. "Hawke? I found some clothing that may fit you." Fenris said, though he made no attempt to enter the room. The elf was a damned gentleman, on top of everything else!

Hawke shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "Thank you, Fenris!" she called, rising and causing the water to slosh around the tub audibly. Pulling the plug and letting the water begin to slowly drain, she stepped out and wrapped herself in the towel he'd left for her. It was clean and soft, though it smelled slightly off, somehow—as though it had been shut up in a cupboard for ages and never aired out. Well, all things considered that was rather likely. "I'm decent, you can come in."

The door slowly creaked open just a crack and the elf's arm snaked through the opening, a small bundle of fabric in hand. "Here. I am taking the liberty of preparing some dinner as well."

Hawke almost—almost!—giggled as she watched the patient arm holding the clothes out for her to take. Instead, she stepped forward and accepted the bundle. "Thank you. I mean it." She said gratefully.

The arm vanished and the door shut once more, as though the elf was trying to think of an appropriate response. "It is… no problem. I will be in the kitchen when you are dressed. Do you remember the way?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be right down."

Hawke heard the faint sound of his feet slapping lightly against the floor as he departed, and she felt a sudden pang of panic. What if he resented her for this? What if he hated the idea of having to wait on another person again like this? Resolving to get out of his hair as soon as possible and find some way to pay him back for putting up with her, Hawke shifted her attention to a more innocuous subject—the clothes he'd left her.

He'd brought two dresses—robes, really. One was a soft, dusky purple in colour with a more diaphanous, flowing white material accenting the wide cuffs of the sleeves and the skirt, giving the robe a rather dream-like quality. It was very, very beautiful and looked very, very expensive. Feeling uncomfortable with this, she turned her attention to the other garment, which was a pretty, deep green in colour. It was a much simpler design, a plain dress likely meant to be worn by servants, not fancy houseguests. That was the dress for her.

Of course, this left her with another problem. She'd spent so much time trudging around in the rain that day that even her smallclothes were wet. And Fenris either hadn't found any or didn't think of it, because he hadn't brought her any. Well, if she was going to bed soon she supposed it wouldn't be a huge problem. Pulling on the green dress, Hawke then hung up her robe and smalls to dry. The dress was slightly too large for her, but it was comfortable and, most importantly, dry.

Feeling much more human again, Hawke ventured out of the bathroom and downstairs, her bare toes curling against the cool tiles of the floor. She could smell food, and the aroma made her realize she was famished. As she came to the doorway of the kitchen, she hesitated for a moment as she watched Fenris.

His back was to her, but she could still see a glimpse of his face as he busied himself with slicing a loaf of bread. Hawke found herself fascinated by the elf's profile—by the proud, dark line of his brow, furrowed in concentration, by the strong curve of his nose, reaching downward toward his thin, sculpted lips. Just below his bottom lip, curving down along his chin and to his neck, those pale lines of lyrium branded into his skin vanished into his tunic. The musing thought of just how far those markings went slipped into her mind unbidden, and she thrust the question away with a mixture of anger and deep embarrassment.

He was an attractive man, certainly. But he was her friend, and one who probably only barely tolerated her. Andrastae's flaming sword, he probably only barely trusted her! Not only that, but he was clearly an emotionally-damaged person. She couldn't blame him for that, not after everything he'd been through. He'd only briefly gone over the very basics of what his former life had been like, and she'd been sick from the thought of all the pain he'd endured. It was wrong of her to ever hope for—for what? Romance? Messiness? Emotions—love?


	3. A Fleeting Moment

**A/N: **_Aaaaaaa chapter three! Okay well, here it is. I still don't own anything about Dragon Age. I'm trying to keep the pacing fluid, and it's actually really difficult because in the game Fenris really tends to go back and forth in terms of his behaviour. One minute he'll be cautiously trying to flirt, then the next he'll back off and try to distance himself from the situation. And I'm trying to keep true to that, but I worry I'm not quite capturing it properly. Anyway I hope it's not too terrible! Please R/R and I hope you enjoy._

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She quickly cleared her throat and tapped on the doorframe. "Sorry it took so long."

Fenris gave a small start and turned. Hawke wasn't able to ignore the way his hand reflexively twitched toward the blade at his back before he saw her. No, his hurts were too many, too great. To try to force any kind of feelings on him would be selfish and cruel. Still, there was the faintest upward quirking at the corners of his lips as he set his gaze on her that made her feel light as a feather. "Do not apologize. It gave me time to get dinner ready. Would some leftover stew be suitable?" he asked almost cautiously.

"Of course. Thank you. Can I do anything to help?" she offered, taking a step into the kitchen.

"Yes. You can sit down and relax, for starters," he intoned in that deep, reverberating voice that she could never disobey. Fenris hesitated as he carried a plate with several thick slices of bread over to the table along with a handful of silverware. "If I sounded abrupt, I apologize. I am—not used to offers of help."

Hawke's heart twisted itself into a teeny tiny knot as she sat down at the table like a good girl. Forget about romance—she just wanted to hug the man to herself and tell him everything would be alright. And then headbutt everyone who had ever wronged him into submission. "No, no! I just hate that I'm imposing on your hospitality like this."

He relaxed by degrees as he turned to serve some stew from a small pot that was bubbling steadily over the fire. "You can repay me by telling me what possessed a bedraggled Hawke to show up at my door in the midnight hour, soaked to the bone and with a mabari in tow, no less." There was still no accusation in his tone, no annoyance. Just a mild sort of curiosity that immediately made her grateful she'd avoided going to her other friends for help. There wouldn't be a lecture from Fenris, she already knew.

Hawke smiled to herself, glancing at the table. He'd already set out a pair of glasses and had been kind enough to fill the one at her place with water. His was still empty, though a bottle of wine sat on the table nearby. Determined to make herself useful, she uncorked it and poured Fenris a glass. "Well… it's kind of a long story. I went up to Sundermount today to visit the elves. I wanted to talk to Marethari about Merrill," she said.

"Why is that?" he asked, an edge of doubt creeping into his voice. She knew that discussing the other mage was a sensitive topic.

"I wanted to learn more about her. I was hoping maybe Marethari had some advice about getting Merrill to give up the whole 'blood magic' thing." Hawke admitted with a shrug, meeting the elf's surprised gaze as he turned.

"Truly?" he asked, setting a pair of bowls down on the table and sliding one to her before taking his seat.

"Yeah, why?" she asked curiously, though she gratefully nodded as she blew at the steaming soup. It looked delicious—a hearty stew with beef and carrots and potatoes.

"Nothing. I am just surprised."

Hawke sighed, glancing away. "Not all mages approve of the use of blood magic, you know. At least I can promise you I certainly don't."

"I—should not have placed my assumptions of other mages onto you, Hawke. I am sorry." He replied quietly, carefully.

"No, it's alright. You have reason to be suspicious. And when you think about the fact that Merrill's a blood mage and Anders has a spirit sharing his body with him, it sets a pretty bad standard, huh?" she asked with a rueful chuckle.

"Mm. Only one in three mages is willing to remain sane, it seems." He replied blandly.

The statistic depressed her. No wonder Fenris couldn't trust mages. The statistic of his circle of companions was a terrible one. "Well," she said quickly, "my sister wasn't a blood mage either."

"I am sorry I could not meet her. You always speak fondly of her."

"I miss her," Hawke admitted before falling silent, stirring at her dinner with her spoon before taking a bite. "Thank you, by the way."

"It is no problem. So you went to Sundermount…." He prompted, taking a sip of his wine.

"Oh! Right. Well, Marethari wasn't really any help which I guess I should have expected since _they _couldn't dissuade Merrill from going the crazy route. So I set off for home, but by then it was raining. When I got home, my mother and uncle were having a fight and Carver decided he wanted to yell at me for ruining his life—"

"What?" Fenris asked, cutting her off. A dark brow lofted.

"Well… I guess it's true, in a way. I mean, Carver's not a mage, but my father and Bethany and I all were. His whole life has been dictated by trying to keep a family of apostates together and safe. My mother at least chose that life when she married my father, but… well, Carver didn't get to choose. I guess he resents that, and I can't blame him." She replied with a shrug.

The elf's next words shocked her. "But he has chosen. He is a grown man. If he truly hated you or blamed you so, he would not remain. He could easily start a life for himself, by himself, here in Kirkwall—or anywhere else."

"I… hadn't really thought of it that way." Hawke said quietly, peeking up at Fenris from behind the fringe of her slowly-drying hair.

"He argues with you because that is what siblings do. But I take it your temper was already running short at that point, and you left?"

He hit the nail on the head. Hawke felt her cheeks grow hot, and she took a large drink of water to try to hide the fact. She set her glass down on the table and glanced up, only to see those large, deep eyes still focused intently on her. She wasn't going to weasel her way out of a response. "Well… yeah, I did."

To her surprise, his lips shifted into a faint, fleeting smile. "You are welcome to spend the evening here anytime."

"Wh- really? A-are you sure? I mean I hate to be a bother—" Hawke found herself word-vomiting as she stumbled her way around trying to find an appropriate response.

"I enjoy talking to you. And you turn the most interesting colours when you are flustered." His answer was smooth, his eyes never leaving her face, giving her no escape from her embarrassment.

Hawke felt the heat in her face stretch all the way out to her ears and she knew she had to be beet red by that point. Sure enough, the elf gave a brief little chuckle. The sound both surprised and delighted her, leaving her wishing he would laugh more. Still, perhaps it was the rarity of his laughter that made it so special. It transformed him from someone people classified as 'broody' and 'intimidating' to someone she desperately wanted to know better.

"Careful, Fenris," she managed to find her voice to mumble, "or I'll think you're flirting with me."

"Eat your soup, Hawke." He replied in that same smooth, unruffled tone, leaning back in his seat to drink his wine.

The rest of the meal passed in silence that wasn't uncomfortable. Hawke was feeling remarkably better now that she'd had a bath and some dinner, though she was still deeply tired. Still, as the elf rose to clean up and wash the dishes, she immediately followed to help him.

"You don't have to help."

"I know."

"Just let me—"

"Nope."

"Obstinate woman."

"Shush. Gimme the dishcloth."

"Hawke, I can handle this."

"I know, but I want to help." She answered with a grin, snatching the dishcloth from his hand and scooting into his personal space in front of the sink until he gave up and sidled away.

Feeling smug, Hawke set to washing the dishes… until the scowling elf smacked a large pile of soap bubbles at her. She retaliated by splashing water at him, and with the lines drawn there the kitchen devolved into a warzone. Within five minutes Hawke's hair was wet again, Fenris had a glob of bubbles on his chestplate, and both were staring at each other with wild eyes, waiting for the next attack.

Hawke made the first move, attempting to smack the man on the arm with the wet cloth in her hand. He saw it coming, however, and grabbed the offending square of fabric. A wrestling match over it began, and the diminutive woman didn't stand a chance against the lanky elf. He grabbed the cloth away, dunked it into the water, and wrung it out over her head before she could even process what was going on.

Now shrieking with giddy laughter, Hawke attempted to slosh a double-handful of water at Fenris, but he stepped back and most of it just got onto the floor and his feet. His counterattack was swift and merciless. Picking up the pitcher of water from the table nearby, he took the container in both hands and slung the contents out directly at her.

"Don't you da-aaaah!" she screamed, laughing still, as she was soaked to the skin once again.

"Are you going to let me wash the dishes now?" he asked in an infuriatingly satisfied tone.

"No way!" she sneered and launched herself at him. Or rather, she tried to, but her bare feet struggled for purchase on the slippery floor, and she nearly lost her balance, arms pinwheeling wildly.

In an instant he'd set the pitcher aside and had grasped both her arms to steady her, keeping her from faceplanting. The war over the dishes was forgotten, and Hawke found herself staring up into the elf's deep eyes. She became intensely aware of the feeling of his gauntleted fingertips squeezing at her arms, of the subtle way his lips just barely parted as he drew in a slow, ragged breath. Maker save her, she wanted those lips. They remained like that, hardly moving, for a long moment, separated only by a few inches.

Fenris was the first to look away, releasing her. "You should get to sleep. You must be tired." He said at last and turned away, taking fast strides away from the kitchen.

Bewildered, Hawke followed after him. Sleep? How could she sleep? Was he that disgusted by her that he couldn't bear to be so near to her?

Her host led her wordlessly to the bedroom he slept in and opened the door. A fire was already burning low in the fireplace, tossing shadows along the walls. "You can sleep here." He said quietly at last.

"What about you?"

"As I said, I rarely sleep." His tone was reserved, distant. He'd drawn the shutters closed, and she couldn't see him anymore.

"Alright," she agreed humbly, staring at her feet as she shuffled into the bedroom. "Thank you, Fenris."

The door clicking shut behind her was the only response, and she heard him pad off down the hall.

Hawke shut her eyes tightly as she crossed the room to the bed, drawing in a deep breath. Exhaustion and frustration and guilt were all fighting over which would take the forefront of her mind. She decided to just surrender to exhaustion. At least it wasn't a complicated feeling. Climbing into the bed and pulling the blanket up over herself, Hawke buried her face in the pillow and drew in another slow breath to calm herself.

But the pillow smelled like him—like the faint, woody, spicy aroma she sometimes caught an inkling of when they were traveling together. But here it was stronger and so undeniably his… Hawke felt her eyes lid, and she surrendered to the desire to sleep.


	4. A Little Thought

**A/N: **_Chapter four is here! I still don't own Dragon Age. I hope you all like it! Please R/R._

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Hawke floated slowly upward from a dream she couldn't quite remember, something she knew she wanted more than anything to hold onto for a few more moments. But the more her mind tried to fumble with it, the more slipped away til there was nothing left but the feeling of deep peace it had given her.

Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the thin, pale slant of grey light that filtered in through the window. It was still raining steadily outside. Mother would already be up and cooking breakfast, and Winston would decide she'd been asleep long enough and come to make sure she was up—

But this wasn't home. The walls, while showing signs of disrepair, had once been magnificent. A fireplace, lovingly hand-carved with swirling, graceful designs dominated the opposite wall. In an instant, her whereabouts came rushing back to her, and she sat up.

Fenris!

Maker save her, what had she managed to ruin last night? There had been that one brief, perfect little moment where they were just two normal people, having fun and laughing. And then they were a mage and a former slave again, and he'd shored the walls back up and retreated. She shouldn't have tried to be so damned foolish and playful with him. She should have known better.

Still berating herself, Hawke swept the covers aside and rose, looking around the bedroom. Her gaze fell on a large, bundled thing in the corner, huddled against the wall and her heart almost twisted itself til it broke.

He was there, wrapped up in a blanket and asleep, his dark brows furrowed, expression contorted into a look of deep, savage unhappiness. An empty wine bottle was clutched to his chest, and his fingers twitched against the dark glass now and again. His dreams were clearly not pleasant ones, and she had an immediate suspicion as to the reason.

Magic, he'd said, seemed to follow him like a curse. Even in his dreams there was no escape from Danarius, from the horrors inflicted on him.

The woman hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. On one hand, she wanted to wake him. On another, she knew the proud elf would probably resent her seeing him so vulnerable. She wavered on the spot, torn between her desire to try to protect him and her desire to try and preserve his hard-won pride.

She made her decision—she decided not to decide. Instead, the mage put another log on the fire, stirring it into renewed life. She then departed quietly and headed down to the kitchen to make the elf some breakfast. It was the least she could do for him, and maybe he'd wake up on his own and be none the wiser that she saw him that way.

She'd used to have to wake Bethany up from her nightmares. Her baby sister had always had terrible dreams about the Templars and her magic and losing her family. There had never been shame between the two of them for it. But seeing Fenris like that—it was like seeing something deeply personal and terrible, something not meant for her to see. It was like an invasion of his privacy.

A sigh escaped Hawke's lips as she entered the kitchen. Sure enough, he'd finished washing the dishes after he'd sent her to bed. And he'd called her obstinate! The mage grumbled to herself as she rummaged through what food stores Fenris had. Bacon and eggs! Breakfast of champions. And she could toast up some of the bread they hadn't eaten at dinner.

Moving with purpose made her feel immeasurably better. Keeping her hands busy and focusing on what she needed to do to accomplish her task left her less time to think about the complicated mess she feared she'd made of her already delicate friendship with the handsome elf.

And by the Maker, was he handsome… Those mossy green eyes, those thin lips that so rarely smiled, that perfect baritone voice that thrilled her senses…

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Hawke drew in a deep breath and pushed the eggs around the pan with renewed ferocity, trying to keep her thoughts in the realm of the practical.

Her next task proved to be more difficult. Fenris apparently didn't keep milk or juice in the mansion, and she wasn't about to serve him wine with breakfast. Granted, wine was all she'd ever seen him drink aside from water if they were traveling, but… well, there had to be something else. And so, Hawke felt triumphant as she found a kettle tucked away in a cabinet along with several neat little bags of tea. In minutes she had the water heated up and had poured him a mug, dunking a teabag in to let it steep.

The woman furrowed her brows. Breakfast was ready, and she'd just kind of planned on him waking up by now. Stupid of her, really. Well, she wasn't about to let the food go to waste. Finding a tray, Hawke loaded it up with the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, the mug of hot tea, and silverware. She then ventured back to the bedroom where she'd left the sleeping elf.

He was as she'd left him, sound asleep and scowling in the corner. Kneeling beside him, Hawke set the tray aside on the floor and hesitated. Finally she steeled herself and decided to just get it over with. Gently pulling the empty bottle from his grasp, she put it aside and then touched his shoulder. "Fenris," she murmured, "good morning."

The elf's eyes shot open and he drew in a startled breath, jumping and almost shrinking away from her. As his gaze fell on her, he began to relax slowly. "Hawke. Did you sleep well?" he asked stiffly, carefully.

The human inwardly cursed herself. She'd tried to wake him as gently as possible. Maybe if she acted like nothing was wrong, or she hadn't noticed his reaction…? "I did, thank you! And I made you breakfast!" she chirped, using the opportunity to deflect his attention to the tray of food as she scooped it up and set it on his lap.

His brows furrowed for a moment as if in confusion before he gave her a hesitant glance. "I—thank you, Hawke. You should not have done this."

"It was no problem. Hurry up and eat before it gets cold, alright?" she urged him, settling in to lean against the wall beside Fenris.

He picked up his fork, but glanced from the food to her. She felt an almost electric thrill surge through her as she met his gaze. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked quietly.

"I'm still full from dinner, actually. It was really good-" Fenris cut her off mid-sentence as he promptly stuffed a piece of toast into her mouth. She sputtered and took a bite out of it, chewing and swallowing. While she was preoccupied, he shook his head.

"We can share." His words were so gentle that she almost melted into a puddle right there on the floor.

Still not quite trusting her voice, Hawke could only nod and smile.

Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't ruined things.


	5. A Sinking Feeling

**A/N: **_Sorry about the delay! The past couple of days have been super hectic and filled with all kinds of troublesome feels, so I just haven't had the concentration to sit down and write. Thank you so much for the reviews! I really, really appreciate them, and they actually gave me the kick in the pants I needed. I love you guys! I apologize ahead of time for this chapter being kind of angsty. It is sheer coincidence that it coincides with my real-life-feels-issues. I just always got some very strong impressions of Leandra as I played through the game over and over again, so uh... if you prefer a kinder, more perfect Leandra I apologize. Also I still don't own Dragon Age. Shocking, right?_

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"Where were you all night? I was worried sick about you!" Leandra, anxious tension visible in her face, swooped down on Hawke the moment the mage walked in the door.

Hawke inwardly groaned, drawing a hand across her features in exasperation. Talking to her mother these days was never an easy task. It was always about Bethany and how she shouldn't have died, how Hawke should have saved her little sister. Or it was about the conditions in Gamlen's hovel, and, while Hawke wasn't arguing that the place was deplorable, she couldn't help but think that at least Gamlen _had_ taken them in.

"I'm sorry to make you worry, Mother," she said, adopting that careful, cautious tone that had come to characterize her discussions with the older woman, "but I was fine. Really."

Leandra captured her daughter's jaw in both hands, peering into Hawke's eyes searchingly. "But where _were_ you?"

Hawke resisted the urge to wince. She certainly couldn't tell the truth. Her mother would have passed out if she'd said she'd spent the night in a mansion being squatted in by a fugitive male elf from Tevinter.

"Isabela and Varric helped me get a room in the Hanged Man for the night," Hawke blurted out immediately, trying to force her lips into a smile. She hated lying to her mother, but she had to protect the woman—from the Darkspawn, from the Templars, from… from everything. "So now I owe them a round of drinks, but that's the least I can do, all things considered."

Leandra stared at Hawke for another long moment before relaxing and drawing the mage into a hug. "I'm sorry, dear. I know you're tired when you come home from trying to take care of us."

The mage just shook her head, returning the hug. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. I'm sorry too." Disengaging herself carefully from her mother's grasp, she took the opportunity to duck into the bedroom and find a clean robe.

"Are you leaving already?" Leandra asked from the other room.

"Yeah. I've got to get everyone gathered up so we can talk about the expedition. We've almost got enough gold to satisfy Bartrand, so we need to start planning out who's coming along." Hawke said as she tugged a pale blue robe on over her clean smalls.

"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

Hawke froze, biting her lower lip. This couldn't be good.

"Please, no matter what happens, promise me you won't take Carver along."

"I'll try to talk him out of it, but he seemed pretty set on going along…" Hawke replied doubtfully, her fingers flying along the tiny ivory buttons of her robe as she did the garment up. If she could just hurry up, she could get away from this conversation and everything it implied. If only she didn't have to think about it.

"He'll do as you say if you put your foot down. I just can't bear the thought of losing my little boy like I lost Bethany."

The words were like a punch in the face. Hawke covered her mouth with one hand, using the other to brace herself against the wall as she struggled for her composure. She angrily squeezed her eyes shut as she felt tears stinging at them, threatening to fall. With that last, thoughtless sentence, Leandra had managed to confirm every single dark doubt that had plagued her mind since they'd fled Lothering.

Leandra couldn't stand the idea of losing Carver. But what about _her? _Was it because she was the oldest? Because she was hell bent on protecting their family and no amount of pleading would keep her from putting herself in danger for them? Why wasn't she deserving of that protective air?

Hawke swallowed the unpleasant boil of feelings threatening to bubble up from her, and she hurriedly brushed at her eyes as she straightened. She was grateful for the wall between her and her mother—both walls, really. The ugly, stained, cracked wall of Gamlen's house and the carefully-guarded fortifications she'd figuratively put up between her and her mother.

"—and are you listening, dear?" Leandra asked, shaking Hawke from her thoughts.

"Yes. Sorry, I was just trying to… to think of what to say to dissuade Carver from coming along," She managed to fish the explanation up and emerged from the bedroom, a smile painted on her face. "Anyway, I should get going. The others are probably waiting on me already."

"I didn't mean to keep you. Are you going to take Winston with you?"

"Not today, I think. They don't like him being in the Hanged Man. Would you mind taking him for a walk later?"

"Of course, dear. You'll come home at a decent hour tonight?" Leandra's voice carried a stern, expectant note.

Hawke nodded dutifully and said her goodbyes, then fled from the house. Once outside, she took in a deep, steadying breath and glanced down the street toward the tavern. What she'd told her mother about having a sort of planning meeting for the expedition was true. Varric wanted to hammer out some of the major details and do another count on how much more money they needed.

"Hawke!" a voice called, making her turn.

Anders jogged over, giving her a warm smile. "It's good to see you. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. How are you today?" she replied, slipping into her practiced, pleasant tone once again.

"Glad to see I'm not the only one running late," he chuckled, his gaze flitting over her. "You look beautiful."

"Ah—thanks. Well, we shouldn't make the others wait, huh?" she asked quickly, eager to shift the other mage's attention away from her. He meant well, and she knew it. But he was just so… it was hard to explain. He was so overt with his feelings for her. After years of keeping almost everyone at arm's length, it made her uncomfortable to have someone so insistently push his feelings onto her. And maybe part of it was that it would just be too easy. Everything about Anders was easy—his laugh, his willingness to talk about himself, his feelings for her, his smiles.

That and the fact that she'd already lit her candle for a certain elf, one whose smiles were so rare and so fleeting, his nature so guarded…

It wasn't that she looked at Fenris as a challenge to be beaten or a conquest. Frankly, she didn't think he'd ever feel anything better than 'tolerance' for her, since she was a mage. But there was something in those large, dark eyes that she wanted to protect. He remembered so little of his life save for suffering and hatred and, even if he never returned her feelings, she just wanted to show him that there was still something good left in the world. That there were good people, good mages. That people were still capable of being gentle and thoughtful. That he deserved to be treated with dignity. That she would always respect him, no matter what.

"Hawke?" The feeling of Anders placing his hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she glanced around. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed they'd reached the Hanged Man and that she'd been about to just cruise right on past it.

"Oh- hey, we're here. Sorry about that," she laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Been a crazy couple of days."

"That's alright. After you, milady." Anders half-jested as he held open the door to the tavern for her.

Making sure she was composed, that her mask was firmly in place, she strode into the building to greet her friends.


	6. A Harsh Discussion

**A/N: **_Oh my god I am SORRY for this. Holy crap, the angst train just kept rolling on this one. I promise I will try to make the next chapter fluffier. The writing just kind of got away from me. I'm sorryyyyy. I still don't own Dragon Age._

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"Hawke! There you are. I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost. Even Daisy beat you here," Varric greeted the mage enthusiastically, waving her over to the large table the group was at. As he noted Anders right behind her, the dwarf arched a brow. "Well now, what's all this? Hawke and Blondie both late and showing up together?"

"Coincidence and nothing more, Varric. Sorry to disappoint. There's no gossip to add to your story." Hawke replied swiftly, still smiling. Of course Varric had noticed the longing glances Anders gave her when he thought she wasn't looking. Andrastae's tits, _everyone_ had noticed. This was her friendly but firm way of letting them know that it hadn't happened, it wasn't going to happen, and that the subject was closed.

"Gossip? I don't see why. Maybe Anders just lost his ball of twine and he had to borrow Hawke's." Merrill said, fixing the two mages with an innocent, doe-eyed stare as they took their seats.

Isabela snorted into her cup mid-drink, earning a withering glance from Aveline. "That sounds like the premise for a show they could put on back at the Pearl. See, it starts with this fellow who looks _sort of _like the King showing up at the door of the Lay Warden. And he says, "I seem to have misplaced my scabbard. Might you have one that could fit my blade?" And _she _says, "Perhaps I do, but I shall have to test the length of your weapon firs-mmmhhffhhh!" the dark-skinned woman was silenced as Hawke leaned over and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Right then. Let's get down to business, shall we? I don't think things need to turn tawdry before noon." Hawke laughed, though this turned to a squeal of alarm as Isabela licked her palm in protest, causing the mage to yank her hand away, flapping it around like it was on fire. "Eugh!"

Expression one of sly triumph, Isabela went back to her drink, leaning back in her seat.

"You look possessed, flailing around like that." Varric said with a snicker, leveling his gaze on Hawke.

"She _licked_ me!"

"You say that like it's surprising." Aveline's dry response was immediate.

Laughter echoed around the table then, with Hawke joining in the chorus. Her glance moved around the group and stilled as she met the dark, mossy eyes of the silent elf at the other side of the table. Her smile had never once faltered from her lips, but that look still pierced her somehow. Those dark, angled brows lifted just slightly, silently questioning her. Giving a tiny shake of her head, she looked quickly away.

It hurt to have to shut him out, but she definitely couldn't talk about her discussion with her mother in front of the others. And really, she would be doing him a favour by avoiding subjecting him to her whining.

"Right, well. First of all, I've counted up the coin saved up thus far, and we only need another four sovereigns—and some change, but that'll come easily enough." Varric said once everyone had calmed down.

Hawke nodded approvingly. "So it looks like I'll be on the lookout for a few more jobs, and then we'll be in good shape as far as the money is concerned."

"Excellent. Second order of business, the map which Blondie was nice enough to provide," Varric continued, unrolling the map and placing it on the table. A few cups and a plate were donated to the cause of holding down the edges, and everyone leaned in to look at the parchment. "I've been examining our entrances and I think the one next to Daisy's finger will be our best bet."

"Why's that?" asked Carver, glancing from the map to Varric.

"First of all, it's fairly close by. However, it's in a remote enough location that it's not like everyone and their uncle knows about it. See, I've done my research, and it looks as though the entrance is on the north side of Sundermount, and half-buried by a rockslide. So it'll take the workers a bit of digging to clear a path, but we'll be looking at a section of the Deep Roads that hasn't been picked clean already."

"That makes sense." Carver had to admit, settling back in his chair.

"Well thank you. It's good to know I've got the Junior Seal of Approval." Varric replied smugly, earning a scowl in response.

"So we've almost got the money, and we have our way in. What else is there to talk about?" Isabela asked, absently fussing with the buckle on one of her boots.

"Well, I'd like to kind of get an idea of who will be able and willing to come along with Varric and me." Hawke said, rising and looking around the table.

Aveline glanced up. "I'm afraid I can't go with you on this one. My duties are here."

The mage glanced down at the woman, placing a hand on Aveline's pauldron as she smiled. "I hadn't planned on trying to ask you along in the first place. Your job comes first, Guard Captain."

"Thank you, Hawke." Aveline said with a faint smile of her own.

"I'd be happy if I never saw the Deep Roads or another Darkspawn ever again, but if you need me to come along I will." Anders said.

Isabela shrugged. "I owe you one for all the help you've given me. Though if I do go with you, can we go ahead and call that debt squared?"

"Of course." Hawke chuckled.

"I know a bit about the Darkspawn. I've fought them before. I'd be happy to help." Merrill said cheerfully.

"Well I'm going." Carver said flatly.

Hawke opened her mouth to protest, then decided against denying him in front of the others. She'd have to talk to him when it was just them.

Fenris spoke up at last, quietly, his gaze never leaving Hawke's. She felt mesmerized by both his eyes and his voice. "I will go."

"Thank you all for being so willing to help," Hawke forced another smile as she found her voice. "However, I think we'll only have enough room for two more people given the travel arrangements, right Varric…?"

The dwarf nodded in response, continuing where she left off. "So we'll make that decision later."

Aveline pushed her chair back and stood. "I'll keep watching for jobs that the guards can't be called on to deal with," she said. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Aveline." Hawke said, waving as the woman departed.

"Does anyone else have any business to discuss?" Varric asked, glancing around at his companions. He was met with shrugs and head-shakes. "Alright then. I guess we're all done here unless you'd like to stay for a few rounds of Diamondback."

"What? Why can't we play Wicked Grace?" Isabela cooed, resting an elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand.

"Alright, we'll play Wicked Grace, but only because Rivaini asked so nicely. Who else is in?"

"I'll play!" Merrill chirped.

"Why not? I could use a break from running the clinic." Anders agreed.

Before Carver could respond, Hawke caught her brother's glance and nodded toward the door. "None for me today, thanks. Need to take care of some things."

"I ought to get going too." Carver said. They said their goodbyes and left the tavern. Once they were outside, Carver scowled at her as if he already knew what was coming. "Well?"

Hawke sighed wearily, pushing a hand through her auburn hair. "Carver, I'm sorry but I just can't bring you along on the expedition."

"Why not?!" he raged, indignant. "Wait, Mother put you up to this."

"She did, so you know there's no point in trying to argue with her." Hawke replied stiffly. Her easygoing demeanor from the tavern had vanished, and she could feel the edge creeping into her voice.

"But you don't have to listen to her! Maker knows you never listen to her when it doesn't suit you anyway!"

"I'm not bringing you along, Carver. You'll just have to deal with it."

"Right, like I've dealt with following in your shadow and doing everything you've said for my whole life." He scowled. They were both arguing furiously at this point, but quietly so as not to attract attention.

"Can you stop thinking about yourself for a minute and a half and consider Mother in all this?"

"Oh come on, you can't play that card on m-"

She cut him off, her voice sharp. "She told me she can't stand the idea of losing you. You're all she has left."

"That's a crock. What about you?"

"She can't stand losing _you._" Hawke asked coldly.

All at once Carver's expression changed, the wind taken out of his sails. He stuttered, fumbling for the right thing to say.

"So you can't come. I'll be sure to bring a fortune back for you two to enjoy. I'll leave it in an envelope or something, before I crawl off and make myself small in a corner." Not waiting for a response, Hawke spun on a heel and stormed off. She bit hard at her lower lip, she bit until she tasted blood, but it was all she could do to try and control the ugly torrent of emotions that was threatening to make an appearance.

Hawke had no idea where she was going. She was so angry she couldn't see straight, finally feeling the full brunt of the realization that she wasn't worth as much to her mother as Carver and Bethany. That she never would be.

As she rounded a corner, she nearly barreled into someone, though a pair of strong hands caught her, gripping at her shoulders. She glanced up and into the deep eyes of Fenris. Before she could even attempt to put on a smile and act like everything was fine, he shook his head.

In that instant, she knew he'd heard everything, that whole awful conversation she'd had with Carver.

Shame burned in her cheeks now, along with her anger and hurt. But the elf's expression didn't change, his brows slightly furrowed, lips quirked downward into a tiny frown. His left hand lifted almost cautiously, and he brushed the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip, that gentle touch wiping away the blood there from where she'd bitten her lip. That touch, that gesture, that kindness—it was too much. Hawke felt herself release a small, choked sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper.

Wordlessly, Fenris wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders and guided her toward the steps that led to Hightown.


	7. An Unforseen Realization

**A/N:** _Eek! Sorry this update is a bit shorter than some of the other chapters have been. Today's been kind of hectic and I'm running on about two hours of sleep. So I tried to make this one short and (eventually) sweet. I really really appreciate all the wonderful reviews! You guys are so supportive and amazing. Thank you! 3_

* * *

"Here." Fenris said, pressing a glass of wine into Hawke's hands. He prowled the room restlessly, thumb tapping out a quiet, irregular beat against one of his thighs as he glanced to the window and looked outside.

Hawke sipped at the drink automatically, hardly even tasting the wine as she watched the elf threaten to wear a trench into his floor from all his pacing. At first she thought he was worried they'd been followed, or something, but then she noticed him look at her and then quickly away, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. It dawned on the mage that he had no idea what to do in this situation. He didn't know _how_ to help, though she knew in his own clumsy, Fenris way he genuinely was trying.

As soon as they'd gotten in the front door of the mansion and were safe from public view, Hawke had lost it completely, blubbering and crying senselessly, all the while trying to apologize for her behavior—though she'd been weeping so fiercely that she doubted he'd understood her garbled attempts at speech. Fenris had endured this with surprising patience, guiding her over to a much-disused couch and making her sit. He'd even given her a few awkward pats on the shoulder before retreating as the sobbing had turned to hiccupping. Not exactly her finest moment.

The mage winced at the thought as she clutched her wine glass to her chest. Fenris always saw her at her worst, her most vulnerable, it seemed. Once she'd gotten her tears out of her system and had calmed down, he'd just quietly gone to the kitchen and had come back with a glass of wine, likely hoping to help ease her nerves.

And now there she sat on the couch, red-eyed and ashamed, as Fenris shuffled from foot to foot, taking care to look at everything in the room but her.

"I'm really sorry." She whispered, surprising herself by how hoarse her voice was.

"Do not apologize. You… you have had a trying few days, it seems." His answer was cautious, quiet.

"It's got to be bothersome, though. I mean, you shouldn't have to put up with this."

He glanced to her out of the corners of his eyes, hesitating as if selecting his words carefully. "I… do not mind. You do not show your feelings to anyone else. I noticed that some time ago."

"Well, everyone looks up to me. They want me to be a leader."

"So you try not to burden them. You take care of everyone else, and you fuss over them like a mother hen." His words were not angry or accusatory, but she still felt embarrassed by them. The truth hurt.

"I'm not a mother hen-" she protested, but the words sounded weak even as she said them.

"You worry over everyone else. You give and give, and leave nothing for yourself."

Hawke looked away, taking a large gulp of wine as a means of avoiding having to respond.

He continued, that deep voice strong despite how quietly he spoke. "You follow the wishes of a mother who does not value you as a daughter the way she should. You take your brother's anger upon yourself because you want to protect him. You run yourself ragged doing things for your friends and never ask for anything in return. I'm starting to wonder if you have a selfish bone in your body, Hawke."

"I have plenty of selfish thoughts," she replied, managing to summon up enough emotional energy to be indignant. "I just don't act on them often."

"Why not?" he asked, shifting to face her fully, his arms crossing over his chest.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, or impose on anyone." She replied with a shrug. She was too tired for this talk, and she didn't want to be goaded into saying something she regretted. Like how her selfish thoughts ran wild for the very elf she was speaking to at that moment. How she craved his touch, his closeness, his breath on her neck…

"So you have selfish thoughts but don't act on them. Isn't that the general idea behind being selfless?" he asked, lofting a single dark brow.

Hawke opened her mouth with the intent of saying something to counter him, but she couldn't think of anything. And suddenly, she felt herself smiling instead, because there was something in the way he looked at her, in the tone of his voice—concern for her well-being coupled with a mild, gentle sort of amusement at her ridiculous behavior.

"Does that make me insufferable?" she asked, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, peeking up at the man from behind a curtain of auburn hair.

"Only a little. Sometimes. Like when you refuse to take care of yourself in favour of trying to avoid burdening those around you for once in your life."

"But I seem to be burdening you a great deal, lately." Hawke noted with a rueful chuckle, gently pinching at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"The word 'burden' implies something that is borne with difficulty. Something weighty and difficult. I am not burdened." He murmured, a brief smile tugging at the very corners of his lips before running away from his face. Then the moment was lost, and the elf removed himself from the situation once more. He drew the proverbial shutters and went back to staring out the window.

But this time, Hawke didn't feel as if she'd been isolated by his withdrawal. Because it was simply his way, and she didn't fault him for it. Because really, she was just the same—though instead of closing the shutters and pulling the drapes to hide one's feelings, she constructed a careful mask to cover them up and keep them secret.

That revelation struck her like lightning, and she knew then what she'd begun to expect he'd always known. That they were more similar than anyone else could have guessed in terms of hiding their feelings and their vulnerabilities from the world.

So when he looked back at her and she'd arranged her mask with renewed energy, she smiled at him, and he gave a subtle nod of his head in return. She wasn't afraid of troubling him anymore.

Somehow, things would be alright.


	8. A Sudden Resonance

**A/N:** _First of all, I apologize for the delay. I actually really, really struggled with writing this chapter. I ended up writing about three different versions and I was never fully satisfied with any of them. This kind of diverts a bit from typical DA2 canon and I apologize for that, but I liked this chapter the best out of the three versions I wrote. I felt like Fenris' markings were never really fully explained, and there were a lot of plot holes and stuff there, so I ended up taking a bit of... uh... creative liberty. If you don't like that, I apologize. Hopefully this isn't an idea that gets me burned at a stake, haha. Anyway, I really really hope you guys like this. I still don't own Dragon Age._

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"Hawke, behind you!"

It wasn't that Merrill's cry of warning came too late—because Hawke had the time to whirl around to face the source of the delicate elf's distress, the late afternoon sun of the Wounded Coast getting in her eyes for a fleeting moment.

But when she looked up and saw the small, malevolent eyes and jagged teeth of the ogre, its mouth smeared with dried blood, every muscle in her body froze. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, and she couldn't even summon up a coherent enough thought to form a spell. The only thought that ran dimly through her mind was to wonder if this was what Bethany had felt before the ogre outside Lothering had….

"Hawke, _run_!" Merrill screamed.

The human finally felt her feet shuffle into motion as paralysis gave way to unbridled terror, and she began skittering backward. Her mouth moved, voice finally managing to form the words to a spell, any spell—

But the ogre had her in its sights, and it lunged forward, a brutal hand arcing around from the side and connecting with Hawke's body, sending her flying like a ragdoll.

Hawke hit the ground hard, all the wind knocked from her lungs, and she moaned weakly as she tried to sit up. Immediately she knew she had broken ribs from the impact of the attack. Her lungs pumped uselessly as she tried desperately to gulp down air, to recover enough to heal herself.

She heard the familiar clunk of metal and wood from somewhere to her right, and registered that several crossbow bolts had buried themselves in the ogre's stomach. The ogre roared, more in fury than pain, as its head quested from side to side, making note of Varric and then Merrill. But then it shifted its attention back to the mage on the ground, the easy kill.

But the ogre clearly hadn't been counting on Fenris, lyrium markings burning like pale blue fires along his skin and shrouding him like a specter, as he covered the distance between himself and Hawke in bounding strides, his sword at the ready. He met the ogre's attack with ease, blade biting into the darkspawn's outstretched hand and hewing out a piece of flesh.

As she managed to get to her feet, Hawke caught her breath and called out her spell, feeling magic welling up within her and extending outward in a piercing bolt of energy. The blast flew over Fenris' head and struck the ogre square in the chest with enough force to stagger the monstrous being. But Hawke stilled, all thoughts of following through with her attack forgotten, because the casting of the spell had left her light-headed, dizzy with something she couldn't quite place. It was as if someone had struck a tuning fork and she was resonating with the sound, her every sense sharpened and tingling with anticipation.

As the ogre lumbered to regain its footing, though, Merrill went on the offensive, sketching a great circle in the air with her hand, crying out in Dalish. Stone grew upward around the ogre, as if the earth itself was forming a massive hand around the beast. It trapped the darkspawn in its grasp and began to collapse inward upon itself until the ogre screeched in agony, only to be drowned out by the sickening sound of bones being crushed. The earth swallowed it up til nothing remained.

Hawke became gradually aware of two pairs of feet running over, and she felt Merrill's hand grasping at her arm. "Oh, Hawke, are you alright? I was so worried about you!" she said anxiously.

Varric was laughing. "That was a hell of a trick, Daisy! You know I'm going to have to write that one into the story, right? You ground that thing into paste!"

Hawke tried to formulate the words for a response but it was if she was somewhere far away, outside her own body. For the moment, there was only the sweet hum of magic singing to her. With great effort, she looked up and saw Fenris, startled to see what she knew was probably her own expression mirrored on his face. As the pale aura surrounding him faded, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Before she could speak, Fenris did so for her.

"What was that?" he asked in a low growl, leveling an intense, furious stare on her.

"What?" Merrill asked, glancing back and forth between them.

"I don't know, Fenris." Hawke said unsteadily, shaking her head.

Varric immediately circled around them and took Merrill's hand. "Come on Daisy. Can you show me which one of these trees has the Ironbark we need?" he asked kindly, steering her away from what looked like a brewing argument.

"Oh! Of course, Varric. It should be just over here. I thought I saw some during the battle…" Merrill replied, and their voices faded as the dwarf skillfully led them away from the situation.

Fenris hadn't seemed to notice their departure, his dark gaze fixed on Hawke and holding her captive. "What did you do?"

"I just cast a spell, Fenris. I didn't even aim it at you, it hit the ogre. You saw that!" she protested.

"You did something else, though. I could feel it!" his tone was angry and… urgent, somehow.

Hawke shook her head again, moving to take a step back from him. "I don't know what happened. I felt it too. I don't understand…"

But he moved in, grabbing her shoulders so she couldn't escape. She grit her teeth as she felt his fingers digging into her flesh. "My markings. When I used them, it was like… like I could feel your _magic_ in them." His words were spoken in a low hiss, fear and mistrust boiling behind his eyes.

"I—I know. I could feel it too. I don't understand it though," she said quickly, before he could take his accusations further. "That spell shouldn't have affected you at all. And my magic has never affected you like that before, right?"

"Right," He said quietly, still gripping her shoulders, though his grip had relaxed by a few scant degrees. "But I… I had never used my markings so close to you before. The only other time was when we met."

"And I didn't cast any spells then. Because you'd already killed the slave hunter…" she whispered. "It—it didn't hurt you, did it?"

"No. But I didn't—don't do it again." He shoved her away then, abruptly, as if she was caustic to the touch.

Hawke winced clutched at her side as the jarring motion send renewed pain jolting up her side, mingling with the emotional distress she felt. That he blamed her for the incident when she'd had no idea what would happen. That they would never—could never—have a normal relationship.

His expression softened as he saw her hand move to her side, the beginnings of guilt flickering behind his eyes. "You are injured."

"I'm fine. I just need to heal myself. If you want to get the hell away from me, now's the time." She said, more hurt audible in her sarcastic response than she had ever intended. She summoned up the energy for a healing spell, feeling the magic blossoming at her fingertips.

But Fenris didn't leave. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand and tucked a straying lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "Festis bei umo canavarum." He murmured.

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, peeking up at him as he released the spell cupped in her palm and felt the magic ebbing into her side, mending her broken ribs and accelerating the healing process. She'd be sore for a few days, certainly, but the spell would help her along and keep her functioning.

The elf didn't respond. As she finished the spell, he quietly drew away and went to look for Merrill and Varric, leaving Hawke alone on the rocky coastline. She'd just have to be careful about her proximity to Fenris when she used her magic in combat. And she could never tell him the way she'd felt in those moments.

There had been something breathtaking there, as if her heart had matched time with his own. She'd been able to feel the course of the energy trailing along his markings, her own magic practically singing in ecstasy as the brief connection had been made. And despite the fact that they were in combat, despite the fact that they were in danger and she was injured… she'd never felt such a sublime sense of peace before.

She could never tell him that she would have given anything to feel that again.


	9. In Which the Author is a Piece of Crap

**A/N: **_I... well... I actually named the file I saved this as, as imsorry. So. I'm sorry for this. And for not writing sooner. Explanation below. Real Chapter to follow. Please forgive me?_

* * *

Doctor Rapture leaned back in her chair with a sigh, peering at her computer screen, at the blank document staring at her. It was almost accusing.

**You haven't written anything in days,** It seemed to say.

"I know, but I have to write about the Deep Roads," She groaned, swinging a nigh-useless arm out and clumsily grabbing her mug of tea. Clutching it to herself, she breathed in the sweet, spicy aroma of hot chai tea and sighed. "Nobody likes reading about the Deep Roads, do they? I don't."

**Someone might. What about them? And what are you going to do about all the other nice people who have read your story and favourited it and reviewed it? You can't stop writing.**

"I wasn't going to stop writing," she whined indignantly, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I was just… you know…"

**Going to skip past the Deep Roads section.**

"Well… yeah. I mean, there's nothing that I really care to alter about the story canon there. And everybody has played through the game enough to know what happens in the Deep Roads. Blah blah grumpy Bartrand, blah blah tunnels, blah blah Darkspawn, find Sandal, ENCHANTMENT, more Darkspawn, spooky lyrium idol, Bartrand's a douche, Varric mad as hell, more annoying Deep Roads navigation, Profane, no I don't want your help Mister Demon, Rock Wraith Boss Battle, quick everyone hide behind the pillars, conveniently placed treasure and key right next to the exit."

**It amazes me that you said that all in one breath.**

"Well you shouldn't be amazed considering you're my subconscious talking to me and I'm just imagining you as my computer document because I feel marginally less psychotic that way." She replied as she began busily typing.

**So you're really not going to write about the Deep Roads?**

"Well there's really no room for exploring the relationship between Hawke and Fenris, which is KIND OF THE FOCUS OF THE STORY. Look, I hate the Deep Roads and I don't want to put myself through writing out what happened during the expedition cause the readers have probably played through it a dozen times already. I have nothing new or exciting to offer about the expedition. They know what they need to know already. Bartrand's a jerk. Varric is mad. Hawke doesn't take Carver so she's gonna come back and have him all butthurt and trotting off to Templarland."

**You liked Templars before.**

"I like Alistair and Cullen. That's not Templars in general. That's like a Templar and a half since Alistair was never actually a full-blown Templar."

**What if your readers are mad?**

"Well, if I was a reader I wouldn't mind not having to read through Deep Roads crap because, as we've established…. I hate the Deep Roads. If they're mad about anything it's probably that they're reading through this internal monologue instead of the actual fanfic."

**You're going to publish this piece of shit?**

"Yer damn right I am."


	10. A Perfect Gesture

**A/N:** _Aaaaah okay enough messing around. Here's the real deal. Like I said. I skipped the Deep Roads. Sue me. They're awful and boring and ain't nobody got time for that. I still don't own DA2. Don't sue me. Please. I'm broke anyway._

* * *

"There you are! Talk some sense into your brother!" Leandra's first words left her mouth in a tumble as soon as Hawke walked through the door. What would have been a stinging pain was only a dull ache at this point—the weeks spent in the Deep Roads had given her more than enough time to think about her relationship with her mother. So it didn't hurt as badly as Hawke had expected it to, for Leandra not to even welcome her home, to ask how things went, if she was alright. It only left the mage with a hollow sensation in her chest. But considering she was expecting to feel much worse about it, the emptiness wasn't unwelcome.

Carver's appearance, though, drew her up short. "That's—Templar armor." Hawke felt herself saying, her voice smaller and tighter than intended.

"That's right," Carver's own tone was clipped. "I already signed up. It's done and it can't be undone. I'm joining the Order, and there's nothing either of you can say that can stop me."

"But why?" Hawke asked. She wanted to feel anger, confusion—and the only emotion she could grasp onto was weariness. Weeks down in the Deep Roads, no sunlight, the constant threat of Darkspawn and other dangers—the Profane, the Rock Wraith—it was all too much. Bartrand's betrayal. The seemingly endless passages, the fear of never making it out alive…

And even now, it seemed, she wasn't allowed to rest. Even now she has to solve everyone else's problems, to be strong for those who couldn't stand on their own.

"I needed to stop living in your shadow, Sister. I need to do something for myself. I want to live my own life." Her brother was bristling at this point, all dark hair and brows knitted into a scowl and clenched fists.

Hawke couldn't even look at Leandra. She just moved to a chair and sat. Winston trotted over to her, panting, as she began loosening her auburn hair from its bun with deliberate slowness. "So go. Live your own life." She said, unable to even make herself sound annoyed. She was too tired.

"Dearest, you can't mean that! Tell him—" Leandra began, but Hawke lifted a hand, cutting her mother off.

"His mind's made up. As he said, it's done. Children grow up."

"I'm not a child!" Carver snapped.

"I'm not saying you are. You're an adult. Cast your own shadow. Become the best Templar there ever was. Hunt down every apostate you can find and put them to the sword. I don't really care. Just stay away from my friends." She mumbled, her eyes lidding as she sat back in her chair. Winston nuzzled his way under her hand, and she half-heartedly scratched behind the mabari's ears.

"Don't worry about that._ I_ know the value of family." He practically spat, and stormed for the door.

"Right. I sure don't." she muttered, bitter sarcasm dripping in every one of her words. But it was too late. Carver was gone.

"How could you let him go that way?" Leandra demanded, tears in her eyes. The woman clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling sobs.

Hawke shifted in her chair, looking anywhere but at her mother. "What did you want me to do? His mind was set and he'd already signed up. I suppose I could have stopped him by breaking his legs. _That_ would have been great, huh?"

"Noel…" Leandra mumbled through her sniffles.

Hawke inwardly cringed. Even her mother hardly ever called her by her first name. Just another difference between her and the twins, she supposed. Bethany and Carver… and "Dearest." She drew a hand over her face, sighing. "The expedition was a success. We're set for life. Varric is taking care of the arrangements and splitting the money. We'll be out of here within a few weeks. I suggest packing." The mage rose and headed for the door, rumpling her fingers through her hair.

Leandra spoke as the mage's hand was on the doorknob. "You think all I care about the money?"

"I don't _think_ anything," Hawke said, the words more harsh than she'd intended. More softly, she tried again. "I don't think anything. Start—picking out a house you like. Or get back in touch with the Viscount about your estate."

Hawke immediately fled then, running away from Gamlen's house, from Leandra, from Lowtown—from everything. She was outside Fenris' mansion before she knew it, knocking on the door. But there was no answer, and Hawke knocked again. Still nothing. She knew he'd be home. Who wouldn't after getting back from the damned Deep Roads? Well. Aside from her.

The mage gingerly tried the knob and the door swung silently open. She entered the mansion and glanced around the entryway as she shut the door behind herself. It was an awkward feeling, entering his home, his—den… without his permission. She _felt _like an intruder despite the tentative, awkward friendship they'd established in the recent months.

"Fenris?" she called softly, peeking into the kitchen, the sitting room, the hallway, all in turn. No answer. Maybe he was already asleep? It wouldn't have surprised her. She was exhausted, herself. It was selfish of her to run to him, to seek the comfort offered by his strong, steady presence. But she couldn't help herself. He'd said he didn't mind… and she needed him.

As Hawke crept up the stairs, though, heading toward the bedroom to see if he was asleep, a sound gave her pause. That sound sent shivers up her spine, her breath escaping in a sigh.

Fenris was singing.

As she cautiously edged down the hallway, the sound became slightly louder—not full volume, by any stretch of the imagination. She halted outside the bathroom door as she heard a sloshing noise.

The gorgeous, infuriating, perfect elf was singing under his breath in Tevinter while he took a bath.

That feeling of awkwardness, of invading his privacy, was getting to her again. But his deep voice soothed her, eased her worries away—even though she didn't understand what he was singing about. It didn't matter. It was his voice and his presence, and that was enough. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to just linger for a few moments. She could sneak out when she heard him getting ready to leave the bathroom.

Even as her brain started arguing with her, pointing out the half dozen ways this was wrong and rude and selfish, Hawke's legs bent at the knee and she sat down in the hall, her back leaned comfortably next to the door. Maker, she could have listened to that voice for the rest of her life and still never gotten enough.

He stopped singing then, and after a moment of silence… "Are you planning on saying hello, at least?"

Hawke reddened, freezing on the spot. If she could have melted into the floor, she would have. How had he-? "Uh—hi, Fenris. Sorry to bother you."

"You really ought to stop apologizing for coming over. I like your company."

Hawke was grateful for the wall between them. It meant he couldn't see the downright giddy grin on her lips. "How's the bath going?"

"Would you care to take one yourself?" There was a low edge of _something_ in the elf's voice, something that turned the blood in her veins to fire, something that left her feeling weak.

"I certainly wouldn't mind it." She replied, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. She'd probably just imagined his tone. Dreamed it up because lately she couldn't think about anything without her thoughts coming back to him.

And she knew she had probably imagined that deep, almost seductive tone because when he responded, his voice was normal once again. Still rich, still strong—but normal. "I will be finished in a moment. There are extra clothes in the room across the hall."

"Thanks." Hawke pushed herself to her feet and crossed the hall to the door in question, opening it. The room inside was clearly a guest bedroom. And while it shared the mansion's general state of disrepair, it wasn't dusty like the unused storage rooms were. The bed looked as if it had been freshly made. The mage paused, glancing over her shoulder toward the bathroom door.

Had Fenris done all this for her? The thought left her feeling warm and light-headed. She crossed the room to the closet and opened it, peeking at the garments inside. Robes and dresses. All of them made for a woman—a slight, diminutive woman. Hesitant fingers reached outward and brushed along the sleeve of a soft, deep green dress with gold accents and needlework.

"Do you like it?" His voice made her start, and she glanced at him. The lanky elf leaned against the doorframe, a towel draped over his shoulders to catch the water dripping from his white hair. He'd pulled on his dark leggings, but he hadn't gotten to his tunic yet. She could see his tanned skin, the lean contours of his frame, the sculpted muscles of his chest, his abdomen. The lyrium markings, stark white against his skin, looped and swirled in graceful lines, dipping downward past even his navel, disappearing beyond the hem of his trousers.

Hawke almost died right there.

Somehow she managed to find her voice and she also tore her eyes away from Fenris before her staring got too awkward. "When did you do this?" she asked quietly.

"Just before we left for the Deep Roads. Do… do you like it?" he asked again, more hesitantly.

"I—Fenris, it's wonderful. You didn't have to…"

"I know," he said, his gaze finding the floor. "But I wanted you to know you are always welcome here. And I wanted you to be comfortable."

Her feet crossed the floor before she even realized what she was doing. In another instant, her arms had looped around his midsection, her face buried against his chest. "Thank you." She whispered. She feared he would only tolerate this gesture for a moment, and she was determined to enjoy it before he pushed her away.

But instead of merely tolerating the hug, he slowly returned it, his arms circling around her smaller form. "You are welcome." She was enfolded in his warmth, his steady strength, his scent, his voice… She felt her lips quirking into a smile against his skin, and she resolved that she would not be the first one to run away from the moment.

Fenris brushed his fingers slowly through her hair before saying, finally, "You need a bath."

Hawke flushed, her gaze snapping up toward him, indignant. "Well excuse me!" she huffed.

"Hush. There is a reason I made the bathroom my first stop when I arrived. It was not meant to be personal, or an insult." He said.

Hawke still scowled up at him—months of studying his expressions had turned her from a merely adept scowler to an absolute champion in the art. "I guess I'll forgive you just this once."

"Thank you." He replied smoothly, letting go of her at last. She immediately felt cold without his warmth.

"Do you want me to cook some dinner once I'm out of the bath?" she asked to distract herself from the lonely feeling as she moved to the closet, picking up the green dress that had first jumped out at her.

"No. Once you're finished with your bath, we are going to the Hanged Man for a party." The elf's thin lips curled into one of those fleeting smiles that left her feeling weak.

"A party?" she asked incredulously, arching a brow.

"Dinner, drinking, cards, dancing. Apparently Varric isn't sparing any expense."

"Wait—how long did you know about this?" she asked in a squeak.

He tapped a long index finger to his chin. "I'd say about a week and a half. He started planning it during the early stages of the expedition. He made everyone promise not to tell you."

Hawke laughed, a delighted smile on her lips. "What?"

"Do you remember Arngeir? The dwarf who broke his arm during the excavation?"

"Yeah, why?"

"He was never injured. Varric used it as an excuse to send him back to Kirkwall and put in the instructions for the party, and to tell everyone who didn't come along."

"No!" she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth as she laughed.

"Yes. Now go and have your bath, or we'll be late."

Whooping with glee, her earlier weariness and pain wiped away, Hawke scampered past him toward the bathroom, dress flung over her arm.


	11. A Stunning Transformation

**A/N: **_OKAY SO I now am at the point where I temporarily cannot stop writing. So please consider this my continued apology for the earlier lack of updates! I hope you enjoy! I don't own Dragon Age._

* * *

"There she is!" Varric shouted as Hawke and Fenris strode into the Hanged Man. The mage offered Varric a warm smile, waving a bit.

"I hear you've been holding out on me, Varric. Throwing a party without telling me ahead of time!" she laughed.

"Oh, you like it," the dwarf chuckled throatily. "Come on in and find a place to sit. Broody too."

As they crossed the room, moving toward their usual table—the only one in the common room large enough to fit their entire group—Hawke glanced around. There were no other patrons in the bar tonight. Varric must have rented out the whole place for the occasion. As she was about to sit, though, a hand clamped onto her arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" Isabela asked, staring at her incredulously. The pirate swayed a bit. Apparently the late arrival of her fearless leader had not discouraged the dark-skinned woman from drinking.

"Uh… sitting?" Hawke asked timidly.

"In that?" Isabela jabbed her free hand toward Hawke's dress.

The mage flushed. "I like it."

"Well sure, it's pretty. But this is a party! You need to loosen up! Let your hair down. See?" she asked, waving Merrill over. The elf smiled and approached and Hawke was taken aback at how well Merrill cleaned up. Sure, she was always pretty with those big doe eyes and delicate features. But under Isabela's guidance, the Dalish elf was absolutely beautiful.

"Hello, Hawke. What do you think?" she asked, doing a little twirl. She'd taken her dark hair out of its numerous tiny adornments and instead wore a crown of pale yellow flowers in her hair. Her dress, too, was a sunshine-yellow in colour, bringing out the depth of colour in the elf's eyes. The cut was perfectly suited for her—right between delicate and provocative. It bared her collarbone and shoulders while still keeping her bust modestly covered, and it was fitted down to her hips where the fabric flared outward. It ended just above the knee, showing off Merrill's legs without being gaudy.

"Merrill, you look gorgeous!" Hawke exclaimed, grasping the elf's hands. For once, she didn't have to fake her enthusiasm.

Smiling, her cheeks pink, Merrill bounced lightly on her heels. "D'you—d'you know when Carver will get here?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Hawke winced at that. She'd suspected there was attraction between Merrill and her brother, but with Carver joining the Order… "Ah… did he not mention anything about…"

"About joining the Templars? Oh, he did. He came by to tell me while you and the others were still gone. But he said he would look out for me," the elf replied, turning even redder, "and that he'd be here tonight."

Hawke felt her mouth go dry. After their falling out this afternoon, she didn't know if she wanted to see Carver so soon. But she couldn't very well say so. And so, she turned her attention to Isabela. "I hate to disappoint, but I don't have any clothing that nice."

"I figured as much. That's why Kitten and I went shopping for you while you were gone! C'mon!" Isabela grinned, dragging Hawke toward her room. Merrill started to follow, but Isabela waved her away. "Oh, you go wait for your big strong Templar." She cooed. Hawke found herself laughing as she and the pirate entered her room.

"Alright, we weren't sure what you'd like, so we took our best guess."

"Thank you, Isabela." Hawke said with a smile.

"What are friends for?" she chuckled, tossing a dress onto the bed for Hawke's approval.

Hawke stopped and stared at it. Black fabric with a sweetheart cut to the top. Sleeveless. Floor-length, by the looks of it, and with a slit in the right side that would probably run all the way up to the hip.

"But wait, there's more!" Isabela cheered, and a red corset with delicate black needlework in the shapes of swirling flowers and vines sailed onto the bed as well. "You'll wear that over the dress. You like red, right?"

"Well, yes, but—" she flushed nervously. It was certainly a lot flashier than anything she was used to.

The pirate whirled, resting her hands on her hips. "But what? You want to catch his eye, right?"

Hawke stared, blank-faced. "Whose?" she forced out with a tiny laugh.

"Oh, don't play innocent with me. I know these things. I realized your brother had it bad for Merrill before _he_ did. And you've been even less subtle. I can hardly blame you though. That lean body. That deep voice and those dark eyes. That brooding demeanor, the intense gaze…" Isabela purred as she whirled Hawke around and whipped her dress up over her head, tossing it onto the bed. "I hear he still wears the shackles from his bondage _under his clothes_."

Hawke reddened as she felt Isabela tugging the black dress down over her head. "He does not!"

"So you've seen under his armor?" the pirate squealed, spinning the startled mage around and giving her a sly grin. "You _are _quick, you naughty girl. So how was it?"

"No! No, we haven't—nothing like that!" Hawke sputtered as she smoothed the silken fabric down over herself. "I just… saw him without a shirt on. After a bath." She mumbled.

"When?"

"Today."

"You mean just before you got here?" Isabela demanded, going for the ornate corset and putting it on Hawke. She deftly began doing up the laces with a red ribbon.

"Yeah, why? I mean it wasn't weird or anything. He was just kind of there."

"There and shirtless."

"Yeah."

"You do realize nobody has ever seen him without that armor before, right? He must trust you. He has to like you."

Hawke wasn't so confident. "I think he just sees me as a friend—and—and I mean that's fine! He's a wonderful friend. Frankly, considering I'm a mage it's a miracle he tolerates me."

"Well, regardless of what he thought of you before—and I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit… he's definitely going to see you as more than a friend tonight." Isabela grinned as she pulled hard on the laces of the corset, tightening it.

Hawke sputtered. She'd never worn a corset before, and the sensation was not a pleasant one. Her insides felt as if they were being squeezed together, which she supposed made sense because they were. "Do—do you really think so?" she asked as she tried to get used to breathing with the corset tightened.

Isabela spanked the mage, earning a squeal of alarm from Hawke, as she went to find some jewelry. "Look here, I happen to be an expert at how these things work. How much experience have you had in the bedroom?"

"Uhm… none?" Hawke replied gingerly as she smoothed out the fabric of her skirt.

The pirate returned, carrying a choker made of a red ribbon and adorned with numerous tiny rubies dangling in looping chains. She fastened it around Hawke's neck and then immediately set to work putting makeup on her. Hawke had never work makeup much, but she endured the process. At last, Isabela went to work on styling her hair for her, helped her into a pair of black shoes with high, tapered heels and more tiny rubies as embellishments, and then released her. "Have a look in the mirror."

Hawke shifted, balancing carefully in the heels, and looked at herself. The woman staring back at her—she wasn't sure who it was. Noel Hawke was a tiny, skinny mage with average looks and a tendency to duck her head. This woman was… was her if she had Merrill's natural beauty and Isabela's stunning confidence and appeal. Auburn hair, glossy in the soft lighting, spilled onto her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her face. Her eyes stood out, long-lashed and lined with kohl. Her lips looked fuller, somehow, and were a rich red colour. The dress and corset did wonders for her figure, showing her off in a way that her modest robes never could—revealing her bustline, a peek of cleavage, making her waist look even more dramatically narrow as it tapered to her wide hips.

"Isabela…" she whispered, and the reflection's lips moved, too.

"You're beautiful." The dark-skinned woman smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Let's go downstairs."


	12. A Single Dance

**A/N: **_WHABAM. Okay, here's the next chapter! Thank you guys for being so forgiving and awesome about my delayed updates. It really means a lot to me that you're enjoying the story. I hope you continue to like it! I know it's been kind of slow, but the pressure-cooker that is Hawke's relationship with Fenris is starting to heat up, I promise. Anyway, I still don't own Dragon Age. 3_

* * *

Hawke nodded and swallowed her nerves, following Isabela carefully down the stairs. She wasn't used to walking in heels, but the pirate strode into the common room as if they'd never left. Hawke found herself hoping maybe no one would notice her sudden wardrobe change, or act like it wasn't a big deal, but as soon as she stepped into the firelight, Varric let out a loud whistle.

"Hawke! You're almost pretty enough to give Bianca a run for her money. Almost." The dwarf said with a grin.

Merrill, who had been lingering near the door with Carver, squealed and ran over. "Look at you! You're so beautiful!" the elf cried.

No, there was no escaping the attention now.

Even Aveline touched the mage gently on the arm and smiled. "You clean up well, Hawke."

Hawke smiled gratefully, murmuring kind words of thanks to the others as they gathered around her. She felt light-headed, as if this strange, unexpected situation was happening to someone else and she was merely watching. The woman accepting the compliments and flattery was far more graceful than she was about receiving attention.

Her gaze found Fenris, standing at the edge of the group, his dark eyes trained on her. There was an expression on his features that she couldn't quite place, his brow furrowed the tiniest bit, a subtle downward quirk to his lips, his jaw clenched. Maybe he was offended that she'd changed out of the dress he'd gotten for her. She'd have to apologize. Isabela hadn't really left her with much choice…

And then the light-headedness vanished, and Hawke came crashing back down as Anders approached, squeezing her hand in both of his. All she could think of was how warm his palms were, unpleasantly so, and slightly damp from sweat. "You look beautiful," he said quietly, his gaze focused on her face. "May I steal you for a dance or three?"

Hawke felt her throat tighten as his words settled on her. _Help. _Where had Isabela gone? There she was, by the bar. She didn't have an excuse to avoid the situation. Forcing her lips into a smile, she nodded. "Sure, though I'm famished. Hopefully dinner will be served soon!"

Anders grinned and guided her toward a space of the floor that had been cleared of tables. The musicians in the corner began playing louder, picking up the tempo into a lively tune. Hawke was grateful for that. No slow-dancing. Merrill and Carver joined in on the dance, and after a great deal of tugging Isabela hauled… what was his name? Sebastian…? over. She remembered helping out the prince of Starkhaven, though she hadn't seen too much of him since. Still, it was nice to see another friendly face, and she gave him a wave as she caught his eye. He bowed his head politely in response.

Throughout the fast-paced song, which involved a lot of swapping-off of dance partners (which she was also grateful for), Hawke kept glancing toward the table where Varric, Aveline, and Fenris sat, playing cards with Bodahn Feddic and, oddly enough, Sandal. Even from where she was, she could tell Fenris was cheating for Sandal and helping the boy win more than his fair share of hands. None of the others seemed to mind, but… Fenris was scowling at the wall directly across from him, hardly paying any attention to the game at all.

The song ended and all the dancers clapped. Hawke joined in, smiling, until she realized that they'd launched into a much slower song. Her stomach turned into a knot as Anders reached out and gracefully caught hold of her hand and her hip, pulling her in close. She gingerly placed her hand on the other mage's shoulder, trying to maintain as much distance between them as she could.

"You really are stunning, you know," Anders murmured in her ear.

"Thanks." She managed to respond, casting a helpless glance to her right and left. Merrill and Carver were revolving slowly in place, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the room. Sebastian was apologetically waving his hands and backing toward the table, and a sulky Isabela was following him. The two joined in on the next round of cards, but Isabela glanced back at Hawke. She met the pirate's gaze, frantically trying to mentally communicate a plea for help to the other woman. This wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't _who_ it was supposed to be.

But Isabela turned back to the table, and aside from giving Varric a playful kick, nothing changed. Hawke swallowed hard, trying to ignore the feeling of Anders' hot, slightly sweaty hand on her own, and the weight of his grasp on her hip. And yet, for all she tried to ignore it, she couldn't think of anything else. Maybe they'd serve dinner soon. Maybe then she'd have an excuse. Maybe she could escape to the bathroom and just never come out.

"Is something on your mind?" Anders asked quietly, staring into her eyes.

She forced a smile and an awkward chuckle. "Oh, I just hate wearing high heels."

"Ah, that hurts. Here I am, unable to think of anything but you, and you're thinking about your feet." He teased, his laughter revealing a flash of his white teeth.

"Ah-" she let out a noise that was something between a groan and a sigh, trying to think of a way to evade the subject.

"I would like it if we could spend more time together in the futu-" Anders was cut off quite suddenly by the sudden, clawed gauntlet on his shoulder. He turned his head, brows knitting into a scowl. "Do you need something?"

"I need to cut in," Fenris replied, his voice dangerously low.

"What—we're dancing, here."

"If you call that dancing. Stumping around her like that. I'm surprised you haven't stepped on her feet yet." The elf said with a withering look.

"Like you know how to dance," Anders said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Hawke."

But Hawke was trapped in the glare of those dark eyes, and she felt her lips quirking into a genuine smile. She didn't move, anchored to the spot.

Anders released her so he could turn to glare fully at the elf, and Hawke took the chance to discreetly wipe her hand off on her skirt. "Look, Hawke and I were enjoying our dance, and-"

"And I don't care. I'm cutting in."

"What if Hawke doesn't want to dance with you?" Anders asked, his arms crossing over his chest.

The musicians had stopped at this point, and the tavern was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Bodahn was guiding Sandal gently toward the door, and the card game had stopped. Even Carver and Merrill were throwing curious looks toward the scene. Hawke was mortified. It was like everyone wanted to see the big Fenris Versus Anders Showdown but her.

Fenris just swept past Anders and moved to stand before Hawke, his eyes burning into hers. "Dance with me." He said, his voice low. It was a command, not a request, and something about it thrilled her senses. She couldn't have said no if she'd wanted to. Fenris captured her hand in his, placing his other hand on the curve of her hip. Unlike Anders, though, he didn't try to haul her in against himself. No, he held her politely, maintaining a respectful distance between the two of them. Hawke was both grateful for that, and frustrated. Of course the man she actually wanted to be that close to was the one to be proper. The elf shot a glance toward the musicians. "Well?" he asked impatiently, and they began playing another slow tune.

"C'mon and play some cards, Blondie! Hawke's not going anywhere." Varric hollered, and Anders had no choice but to accept defeat for the moment. He headed toward the table and took a seat. Bit by bit, the conversations started back up. Carver and Merrill resumed dancing.

"Are you alright?" he asked her in a murmur, his eyes still smoldering.

"I'm fine. Thanks for saving me," She replied with a soft chuckle. Hawke felt herself relax as she moved with the elf, who proved to be an astonishingly graceful dancer despite Anders' doubts. "Where did you learn to dance?"

He spun her deftly, drawing a gasp of surprise from her lips as her skirt twirled outward, revealing a flash of her pale thigh. As he drew her in, his expression still thunderous, he spoke. "I learned during my time in Tevinter. Such dances originated in Orlais, but dancing is a universal thing, it seems. Danarius threw parties, and I watched."

"Your expertise in combat can't hurt, either." She murmured, feeling herself falling into the steps with ease, Fenris guiding her movements with precision and grace.

"I suppose that is true. Swordsmanship is its own form of a dance."

Hawke had to bite back a sigh of pleasure as she felt his fingers at her hip shift to the small of her back, supporting her as he leaned her back so far her hair almost brushed the floor. And then they were both upright again, though now she was closer to him. She wasn't sure if he'd drawn her in closer, or if she'd been the one to press against him, or if it was reached by mutual conclusion. But he didn't step back and she certainly wasn't about to. No, Hawke was happy to lose herself in the music and the feel of the lean, powerful elf holding her close to himself.

"Why do you tolerate his advances?" Fenris asked suddenly, quietly, startling her from her reverie.

Hawke flushed, embarrassed. "Well, it's not really… I mean, usually he isn't that—overt. I used to think… hope… he was just being polite. You know? And now that I know that's not the case, I need to talk to him, but now didn't seem like the right time. I'll have to go by his clinic in a few days and ask him to, no… _tell_ him I'm not interested."

"You've no interest in him at all?"

"No. He's a friend. He's a nice guy. He's attractive enough, I guess. But I don't feel anything when I look at him."

Maybe she was deluding herself into thinking his expression softened at her words. If she was, she was okay to keep on deluding herself for awhile. It was nice to pretend that Fenris cared enough for her to feel protective of her.

As the song ended, she smiled up at him, her gaze meeting his. "Thank you for the dance." She whispered.

"It was my pleasure."

"C'mon and eat some dinner! It'll get cold if you four decide to dance through another song. There'll be plenty of time for that after you eat." Isabela called. She caught Hawke's eye and grinned smugly.

Hawke didn't know what Isabela had done, but she knew she'd hear about it sooner or later. For now, she headed toward the table with Fenris, Merrill, and Carver. Her brother looked at her and then nodded, his expression apologetic. She felt her own features mirroring the look, and she nodded as well. No matter how they fought, they were family. And family forgave each other.


	13. A Heart-to-Heart

**A/N:** _Aaand here we go again! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you again for all the wonderful reviews! They really keep me going. 3_

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"Am I the best, or am I the best?" Isabela grinned as she cornered Hawke on the way back from the bathroom.

"What did you do?" the mage asked, glancing furtively around.

"I just gave Varric a little kick and directed his attention to Fenris, who I swear was about to burn a hole in the wall with his glare. And then Varric caught on right away and—shit you not, do you know what he said?"

"No, what?"

Isabela grinned widely, then adopted her best impression of the dwarf. Dropping her voice, she jerked her head to the side and said, " 'Go get her already, Broody.' "

Hawke felt her cheeks burning, her breath catching in her chest. "He said that? And Fenris didn't punch him?"

"Of course not! He just got right up and stormed over to you and Anders, looking like he was about to murder him, and—well, you know the story from there. He's a hell of a dancer though, isn't he?"

She nodded, a giddy smile reaching her lips. "He's a very good dancer."

"And?"

"And?" she asked, looking at Isabela uncertainly. The pirate prodded her side, trying to get more details.

"Come on, tell me more than that!"

"It was a very nice song?"

"And?"

"And—he's very strong."

"Is that all? Was he angry? Did he flirt?"

"I-I don't know. I don't think he was flirting. He looked angry until the end."

"Well when he stopped looking angry, why was that?" Isabela urged her, glancing around furtively to make sure no one was listening in.

"I don't know…"

"What were you talking about?"

Hawke hesitated, glancing away. "He asked if I was interested in Anders, and I said no."

The pirate grabbed the mage by the shoulders and shook her enthusiastically. "That's great! Do you not know what that means? He's totally interested in you and he's happy that you aren't interested in his biggest competition!"

"I—I dunno, Isabela. I mean, that'd be nice and all, but Fenris isn't like other men."

"Trust me, sweetie, when it comes to beautiful women, _all_ men are the same. It doesn't matter how different they are in any other situation. If they both want a woman, they'll operate with the same thought patterns."

Hawke smiled weakly and shrugged. "Maybe."

The pirate huffed and let go of her. "You're both just being difficult. Just go try to get some alone time with him! Ask him to walk you home, or something."

Hawke let out a sigh. She was starting to remember just how exhausted she was. Maybe it was a good time to go get some sleep. Forcing a bright smile onto her lips despite her weariness, she headed back to the common room, tapping Varric lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, Varric."

He turned and gave her a warm smile. "Heading home?"

"I think I ought to. It's getting late, and I could use a good night's sleep."

"I hear that. I think everyone's having that idea. Aveline left a moment ago, and Junior and Daisy snuck off. Even Blondie went home."

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. "Did he?"

The dwarf chuckled. "I think he bowed out when he realized he wasn't getting any tonight."

She playfully punched him on the arm and headed for the door. "Have a good night, Varric. Thanks for the party!" Stepping outside into the cool, crisp night air, Hawke drew in a deep breath.

"Would you go for a walk with me?" That deep, irresistible voice spoke up, and Fenris stepped out of the shadows by the door. "I know it is late, but…"

"I'd love to." She replied with a smile. Maybe Isabela was right, after all. Before he could step away, she reached out and laced her fingertips with his own.

Fenris glanced down, surprised, but didn't pull away. After a moment he relaxed, and his fingertips clasped around her own hand. Hawke didn't say it, but the gesture felt right, somehow. They set off down the street, Hawke's heels clicking against the stone in a light staccato, Fenris' footsteps as silent as ever.

"I had fun tonight. Did you?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied quietly, sounding as if he himself could hardly believe it. "Yes, I did. You… you look—beautiful."

It had been a nice compliment from everyone else. Hearing Fenris say it made Hawke's heart pound against her ribcage in fierce satisfaction. "Thank you."

As they neared the steps leading to Hightown, she hesitated. Fenris glanced at her, his brows furrowing. "Ah—were you planning on sleeping at home tonight?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh! No," she said with an awkward laugh. "Not if you don't mind me crashing at your place. I was just looking at all those steps. I have to get these shoes off first." Grasping the elf's arm for balance with one hand, she shifted her weight from side to side as she pried the heels off, sighing in relief as she let her bare feet rest against the ground. "Ohh, that's better."

"Were they very uncomfortable?" he asked as she picked the shoes up, holding them in her other hand.

"Ugh, like you wouldn't believe. You wanna try them on and see for yourself?" she teased, grinning.

He shook his head, peering at the shoes as if they would detonate. "No thank you. But you had me fooled. You were very graceful in them. I would never have guessed they were causing you such discomfort."

Hawke felt her cheeks burning as they started up the stairs. The satisfied feeling in her chest turned to a proud sort of ache in light of his compliment. "To be fair, you'd never seen me dance before. Maybe we should do it more often."

Fenris was quiet for so long that she was starting to think she'd said the wrong thing, somehow, when he finally spoke. His voice was tentative. "You… do not have your eye on anyone else?"

"We're the only ones here, aren't we?" she asked quietly, glancing up at him as they reached the top of the stairs that marked the beginning of Hightown.

"Answering my question with a question isn't really an answer at all, you know." He reminded her gently.

She smiled faintly, glancing away. "I'm sorry. No, Fenris. I don't have my eye on anyone else."

"I'm an elf and an escaped slave, squatting in a borrowed mansion. That doesn't bother you?"

"And I'm a Fereldan refugee and an apostate mage, spending more and more of my time lately living like a freeloader in said borrowed mansion. That doesn't bother _you?"_

"You did it again."

"Did what?"

"Answered my question with a question." He murmured.

"Come on, it was an appropriate response that time!" she protested, laughing gently.

He just stopped and looked at her, dark brows raised expectantly. Hawke found herself wondering if his hair was white as a result of the ritual performed on him. What would he look like with dark hair? Still devastatingly handsome, she thought. But he was still waiting for a response.

"No," she said. "Of course it doesn't bother me. What about you?"

He stared at his feet for a long time, not meeting her gaze. She supposed he was thinking hard about his answer. This would decide it—this would determine whether or not he was able to put aside his hatred of mages enough to make an exception for her. Meeting her gaze at last, he smiled just the tiniest bit. "It does not bother me."

Hawke could have let out a whoop for joy, and she nearly did—until she remembered where they were, and that the rich fuddy-duddies of Kirkwall would not appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night by her exuberant cheering. So she just grinned at him, giving his hand a little squeeze, and they resumed walking.

As they entered Fenris' mansion, the elf released her hand at last and he locked the door behind them. In comfortable silence, they headed upstairs, though he hesitated at the door to the guest room he'd prepared for her. "Well… here we are." He announced unnecessarily.

"Yeah… thank you, Fenris. For everything." She murmured, glancing up at him. Her eyes met his own and she froze, unsure of what to do.

"You do not have to thank me. I like seeing you happy." His hand reached out, tentatively, thumb brushing along her jawline. The contrasting sensation of the warm, calloused pad of his thumb and the cool, smooth edge of his gauntlet set a shiver of pleasure up her spine, and Hawke leaned into the caress before he could interpret the tremble in the wrong way and withdraw.

"And I-" she never got to finish whatever vague, half-thought statement she was trying to reach for. Because the elf leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a slow, gentle kiss. The mage's breath caught in her chest as she returned the kiss, her full lips dancing against his own narrow ones. Neither of them tried to press the kiss further or deepen it, but it went on and on with a slow, blissful kind of ease that left Hawke dizzy with want. Her arms looped around his shoulders and he drew her in against himself, allowing her to nestle against his lanky frame. Somewhere along the line, her shoes fell from her fingertips and landed with a pair of loud thumps on the floor, but neither of them paid any mind.

At last they both pulled back to catch their breath. Hawke's cheeks were hot. Fenris' eyes were dark. "We—should stop. Lest I act with greater haste than a lady deserves."

Hawke was torn. Part of her was about to melt into a puddle because he was so determined to be a gentleman. But the rest of her wanted more, wanted him. But she knew, for his sake moreso than her own, she couldn't try to push things. They'd already come so far. And she didn't want to frighten him away. So the mage smiled up at him and gently disengaged from him. "Good night, Fenris." She whispered.

He released her, his fingers lingering at her hips for a moment longer before he pulled away. "Good night… Noel." He replied, voice hushed, before he took off down the hallway toward his room.

Hawke shut the door to her room behind herself and leaned against it, feeling a giddy smile on her face. She clapped her hands against her cheeks, handing sliding backward to curl her fingers into her hair. Had that really happened? She hadn't been dreaming, had she? No, she could still almost feel the pleasant weight of his hands at her hips and she could taste him on her lips. Crossing the room, she headed for the bed, fumbling with the corset as best she could from behind. But it was no good, she'd never be able to get it off on her own.

Isabela had thought of everything, it seemed.

Cheeks hot with embarrassment, Hawke stole down the hallway and tapped on the door to the master bedroom.

"Just a moment," Fenris called and, a few seconds later, the door opened. He'd already removed his tunic, revealing that gorgeous, perfectly-sculpted chest for the second time that day. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She laughed nervously and turned away from him. "Would you mind getting me out of this corset? I don't know what Isabela did, but I can't get it off."

Fenris' deft fingers brushed along the red ribbon that formed the lacing for the corset, settling at last on the bow at the very bottom, just above her rear. Hawke tried her hardest to calm the nervous pounding of her heart. "She double-knotted it. No wonder you couldn't get it untied, not being able to see it." He murmured, going to work on the bow. He began unlacing the corset with swift, precise movements, finally drawing the ribbon away from the material completely. Hawke caught the corset before it could fall off her, and Fenris set the ribbon aside on a dresser.

She turned, smiling at him gratefully. "Thanks. I never would have been able to get to sleep with that thing on."

He nodded, not yet shutting the door. "Ah… did you—have you gotten the fire going in your room, yet?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Getting out of the corset was priority one."

The elf swallowed—Hawke could see his adam's apple bob—and regarded her almost nervously. "Well… I have… I've already gotten the fire going in here. It's a little too cool to sleep without one. Would you… would you like to share tonight?"

Hawke felt that bright smile on her lips once again. "Okay." She said happily, and he ushered her into his room. Shutting the door after them, he motioned toward the bed as he began to move toward the corner. The mage touched his arm lightly. "Fenris? What are you doing?"

"I am letting you have the bed." He replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Look here," she huffed. "The bed is big enough for two, and if you don't join me in it then I'll just have to sleep on the floor with you."

"Hawke, I don't want to rush thi-"

"We don't have to _do_ anything," she mumbled, cheeks burning. "I just meant… you know, sleep. But I won't be comfortable with stealing your bed while you sleep on the floor. So either we share the bed, we share the floor, or I go sleep in my room and you can do whatever you were going to do in the first place."

"And there is no changing your mind, is there? Stubborn woman." He mused.

"Nope!" she chirped proudly, resting her hands on her hips.

"Alright, alright. You win." He said. Pleased by this, Hawke pranced to the bed and climbed under the blankets. Fenris followed more hesitantly, but eventually he did settle down under the covers. Hawke instinctively nestled against him, and he didn't pull away. After a moment, he gingerly draped his arm over her.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently, peeking up at him.

He nodded. "I am not used to this."

"I'm not either. Have you never…?"

The elf looked away, flames reflected in his eyes. "The ritual that put the markings in my skin, I—the pain was… extraordinary. It wiped away everything. All my memories. If there was anyone before then, I have no recollection."

"And no one since then?" she asked, blushing.

"Who could I trust? No, there hasn't been anyone since," Fenris murmured. "What about you?"

"Me? No. Maker, no. After all, who could I trust?" she asked with a small smile. "I could never have gotten close enough to anyone in Lothering, even _if_ I had been attracted to them. And since then, well… I certainly wasn't about to get involved with anyone else working for Athenril. And you and I met shortly after I parted ways with her group."

Fenris nodded in silence. Tentatively, he spoke up. "What will your mother say?"

"I don't care," she grumbled. "She didn't even welcome me home. Too busy wrapped up in fussing about Carver leaving."

"She does love you." He said quietly.

"I know. She just picks a shitty way of showing it," Hawke replied, pausing to yawn. "Oh well. Tomorrow I'll go home and she'll apologize and I'll apologize and everything will be more or less alright again."

"I admire your certainty."

"That's how it's been for years now. Ever since Father died and I had to step up and take care of the family."

Fenris' hand traced tiny, gentle circles along her back, lulling the woman toward sleep. "When did he die?"

"Mm… about three years before the Blight." She mumbled, eyes lidding.

"And you spent a year working for Athenril. And then all this time getting ready for the expedition—so it's been over four years?"

"Time flies when you're having fun." Even she couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her tone, despite how tired she was.

Fenris just breathed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Sleep well."

"You too." She mumbled happily, surrendering at last to the bliss of rest, wrapped safely in his arms.


	14. An Unpleasant Breakfast

**A/N: **_Yeh. I apologize ahead of time, but this chapter might seem a bit dry. I had to account for the time lapse in between the Deep Roads and Act 2, so this is mostly just a recap/retelling of what Varric narrates in-game, with some extra embellishments for fluff because I thought they made sense in the context of the story. So I hope you all like it! Things should pick back up again in the next chapter. Thank you all again for the reviews! I love you guys._

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Weeks had gradually stretched into months, each rolling by with a peaceful, drowsy sort of slowness. Leandra was able to use the money from the expedition and her correspondence with the viscount to reclaim her old family home in Hightown. Bodahn Feddic had voluntarily installed himself as a sort of servant, meaning he and Sandal now lived in the mansion as well. That was fine by Hawke. The estate was just too large for her, Leandra, and Winston. Even with Sandal's antics and Bodahn's running chatter, the house still felt quiet. Too quiet.

Leandra was happy though, and cared for—and Hawke was happy for that. Despite everything that had happened and all the uncomfortable distance that had grown up between them in the past years, she still loved her mother, and wanted her to be happy. She was making an effort to be more patient with the situation, to take her mother's oftentimes thoughtless comments in stride. It was difficult, but she was trying. She knew Leandra was too. She didn't mention Bethany as often, and she didn't blame Noel for Carver leaving to join the Templars.

Carver wrote regularly, though she rarely got to see her little brother. He was so busy with training that she couldn't blame him. He managed to stop by for dinner now and again, and he put up with Leandra's fussing over him, always reassuring her that the Order was feeding him enough, that he was fine, that he was happy. He endured her comments about finding him a wife with more reserve. He didn't mention Merrill, and Leandra was happily oblivious.

Hawke wasn't sure just how far the relationship between her brother and Merrill had progressed, but she had her suspicions. She knew they'd left the party that night together, and when she had to go to the Gallows, Merrill always volunteered to come along. The sweet girl sighed frequently, and when she didn't think anyone was looking in her direction, she oftentimes looked wistful or sad. There was a part of her that thought she should be embarrassed that her little brother had probably lost his virginity before her, but Carver was handsome and had always been popular with the girls in Lothering. Frankly, she approved of Merrill a whole hell of a lot more—despite her being a Blood Mage—than that awful Peaches girl who used to moon around after him.

Otherwise, things hadn't changed too much. Sebastian spent more time with the group when they played cards at the Hanged Man. Aveline was doing an exemplary job as Guard-Captain. Anders was running his clinic and complaining about the iron grip of the Templars. Varric still had his ear to the ground for any news of Bartrand. Isabela was as elusive as ever, looking for the relic she needed—though she did have enough time to give Hawke many a stern lecture about the fact that she and Fenris hadn't done the deed yet.

Honestly, Hawke didn't mind too much that she and Fenris were taking it slow. She preferred that he set the pace, since he was the one who'd suffered so much emotionally. She wanted to let him know that he was the one in control and that things would only go as quickly as he was comfortable with. She wanted more, but she contented herself with waiting.

Even after moving into their home in Hightown, Hawke still spent almost every night sleeping in Fenris' arms. Leandra would never have approved and as such Hawke had become fairly inventive. The lie about sleeping at the Hanged Man lost much of its validity once they moved out of Gamlen's hovel, so she usually ended up sneaking out of the house in one way or another. Fortunately, Leandra often went to bed early, but Hawke sometimes had to climb down the trellis near her window or use her magic to turn herself briefly invisible.

The nights when she couldn't get away from the house, or when Fenris was playing cards with Varric at the Hanged Man til the sun was about to come up, were agony. Her bed was too large for just her, and felt painfully empty without the comfort and warmth of the elf beside her. Typically, on those nights, she ended up wrapping herself in a blanket as tightly as she could and sleeping curled up on the floor.

It was after one such night that Hawke awoke, curled up in her blanket like it was some kind of protective cocoon, to knocking on her door. "What is it?" she called, blearily trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.

"A message for you, messere!" Bodahn called through the door. "Your presence has been requested by the Viscount after breakfast, which I took the liberty of preparing."

Hawke groaned and stretched, trying to extricate herself from the tightly-wrapped blankets that had her limbs prisoner. "What's the Viscount want?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. The messenger didn't say. He just said it was urgent. Why don't you come on downstairs and have some breakfast? I'm sure that's just what you need." The older dwarf said kindly. Hawke heard his feet padding along the floor as he headed off toward the kitchen.

The mage finally managed to disengage herself from the blankets and dumped them unceremoniously on the bed. After she'd washed and gotten dressed, Hawke headed downstairs, fussing with trying to force her hair into a bun. The result was messy, at best. As she entered the dining room, she saw that her mother was already seated at the table and waiting for her.

"Maker, dearest! Look at your hair," The woman immediately fussed, causing Hawke to duck her head in embarrassment. "You really ought to get it cut."

"I was thinking about growing it out." Hawke mumbled as she sat down across from her mother, serving herself a generous helping of pancakes and sausage. Bodahn was an excellent cook, and he'd figured out that pancakes were her favourite.

"Well, if you must. But really, if you're going to let it grow you ought to do something with it. Style it, or something. You look positively bedraggled." Leandra said more gently.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm not used to it." She replied, avoiding her mother's gaze. She'd begun to suspect that Fenris was partial to long hair, ever since she'd worn it down at the party.

"I suppose Bodahn told you about your meeting with the Viscount later today?"

"Yes, he did."

"I was thinking, while you're at the keep…" Leandra began, adopting a careful tone.

Hawke had to hide her wince by taking a drink of orange juice. She was afraid of what her mother was going to say. "Hm?"

The woman folded her hands neatly, leaning forward as she fixed a stare on her daughter. "Well, Seneschal Bran has a son about your age. I was thinking this might be a fine time for you to arrange a meeting."

Hawke slumped in her seat, paling. She gingerly pushed her pancakes around on the plate, her appetite lost. "How can he have a son my age? He looks so young, himself." She mumbled.

"I suppose he's just aged gracefully, dearest. But his son is a handsome young man, and I don't need to remind you that he would be well off, considering who his father is."

"Mother, I don't know…" Hawke said through her teeth. Oh, she knew alright. She knew there was no way in hell. But she couldn't say that outright. She had to be careful. "I always wanted to marry a man who was more… I don't know… adventurous? I don't need to live in luxury."

Leandra sighed, but she smiled nonetheless. "Alright, alright. I suppose I should have expected as much. You're so like your father. What about that nice young man who comes to visit? The blonde one."

Maker save her, the subject went from bad to worse. "Anders?" she asked in a squeak. "I don't think so, Mother. I don't think Anders is interested in me in that way." Hawke lied quickly, staring at her uneaten plate of food. She tried to force down a few mouthfuls, but she might as well have been eating sawdust.

"Oh, of course he is. I can tell when a young man is making eyes at my little girl. Besides, even when he stops by to call on you and you aren't home, he still stops and talks to me. He's very sweet. And he'd be a much better match for you than your, ah… elf friend. The grumpy one. Anders has a much sunnier disposition, and I daresay that you could use someone who could teach you a thing or two about smiling."

Hawke scowled at this remark, pushing her plate back. She couldn't stand the way Leandra talked about Merrill and especially Fenris— and the thought that Leandra knew about what was going on between Hawke and Fenris left her sick with worry. "Well," she said carefully, "I'm not interested in Anders."

"I notice you haven't mentioned the elf in that rebuttal." Leandra said quietly, peering at her daughter over the edge of her coffee cup.

Hawke couldn't take anymore. Rising, she headed for the door and called over her shoulder, not caring anymore what conclusions her mother drew, "His name is Fenris." Before anyone else could stop her, she stormed out of the house and beelined it for the Viscount's keep.

Hawke sighed wearily as she tried to fix her hair, managing at last to pull it into a respectable-looking bun. Now she'd done it. All her attempts at fixing her relationship with her mother and all her attempts at keeping the older woman at ease by not mentioning her relationship with Fenris—it was all ruined. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? Still, if she was going to mess up her relationships with those she was close to, she decided she might as well get it over with and tell Anders to piss off while she was at it. She resolved to stop by his clinic after she got done talking to the Viscount.

The nobility of Hightown gave Hawke a wide berth as the Fereldan tromped her way up the stairs toward the keep. They'd quickly grown to learn that when she was on the warpath, she wasn't to be stopped.


End file.
